My Queen, My Deviant
by LittleNikki
Summary: Oh my my my! What could possibly happen when the Hero Queen of Albion celebrates her victory over the tyrant King with the deviant head of Reaver Industries? Fable 3 universe...
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: Fable 3, Reaver and all other character and game plotlines belong to Lionhead. _

_My Queen is my own, and so is this story._

_A/N: I absolutely LOVE Reaver, since I first met him back in Fable II, and have always wanted to write a story with him. Having just purchased (and beaten) the 3rd installment of this wonderful game, and yet again being dissappointed by not being able to marry my evil little deviant, I have decided to finally get on that! Reviews are welcome, and will help me decide if I should continue!_

_Update 15/6/2013: As I wish to pick up this story and become more familiar with it, I am going back to edit and tweak previous chapters. _

* * *

_Do you_

_Do you really enjoy living a life that's so hateful?_

_Cause there's a hole where you soul should be_

_You're losing control of it_

_And it's really distasteful_

_Fuck You ~ Lily Allen_

"Ah Reaver. To what do I owe this tremendous displeasure."

The words from the Queen of Albion's lips drip with distaste and mistrust, her honey brown eyes falling down upon the finely dressed man bowing before her. As if you can really call it that. The man merely bends at the hip slightly, his emerald eyes snapping back and forth between the two heavily armed guards at her side.

Reaver is an obnoxious, self-absorbed, heartless crook. But one thing he is not, is stupid. This the Queen knows quite well.

"Such harsh words from such a lovely woman, my delicious Queen. I am hurt, truly." Reaver flashes the Queen a devilish smirk, knowing full well its affect on that of the fairer sex. The Queen remains unfazed, a bored sigh escaping her ruby red lips.

This is a scene that plays out numerous times in the throne room of castle. Reaver will come, brandishing gifts and sweet words, attempting to hide the sadistic propositions made to his most pure-hearted Queen. It is a fruitless effort, as Reaver is fully aware, but he does **so** love to annoy Her Majesty.

"I must say, that outfit suits you very well my dear. Cut in **all** the right places," His eyes roam shamelessly down the Hero Queen's exposed neck, "Why, I swear I can almost make out the faintest hint of a nip-"

"Reaver!" The Queen's gloved fist comes down hard upon the armrests of her throne, the guard's surrounding her snapping into attention. She quickly regains control however, waving them off with a limp hand, leaning back into her seat and sighing once more at the insufferable man.

"Oh my sweet, I merely jest." Reaver taps his black cane lightly against the marbled floor, the noise ringing throughout the spacious room, "I come with the most wonderful of ideas. I really think you will be quite pleased."

Reaver claps his hands together emphatically, only increasing the Queens discomfort. She knows full well what Reaver's "ideas" usually involve. Sex, murder, alcohol, or some kind of sick combination of the three, possibly more. None seem even remotely agreeable to her at the moment. The Darkness will soon fall upon her Albion like a thick fog. Her people look to their rebel Queen for an answer, an answer she is not sure she could give them. A savior she is not quite sure she can be.

She is more than willing to die trying however.

"What is it this time Reaver? Would you like me to allow you to enslave the rabbits running among Bowerstone? Create a bunny-sweat shop to increase productivity with free labor? One that, ironically enough, would produce little toy animals for the children to pester mummy and daddy for?"

"Oh, you do so sound like your mother when you are sarcastic with me, my little minx." Reaver smiles wide, knowing full well how curious the Queen grows whenever he brings her mother into the equation. She does not quite understand the full extent of his unnatural long lifespan, only that he has indeed lived for much longer than typical humanity will allow. Apparently, the legend of the great Pirate King was not in the list of appropriate tales from the previous Queen's book of bedtime stories. A thought that both enrages and annoys Reaver to no end.

"As thrilling as that intriguing idea of yours sounds, business is not why I decided to bless you with my presence this day."

"Then it is pleasure that drives you, am I correct?"

"Ah my Queen, you know me too well. I have killed many for just that same feat, though, I am not so foolish to try and attempt that now." Reaver once again glances to the many guards, though he is quite sure he could dispatch each one with just the twitch of the hand, his trusted .48 Dragonslayer still strapped loyally to his hip. Fighting them off just seems like such a dull idea at the moment, his mind far to preoccupied with thoughts of frivolity and fun.

Reaver slowly, but confidently, begins to make his way up the steps leading to the Queen's throne, her expression still unchanging despite his daring movements to approach her uninvited. As said before, the Queen knows full well the extent of Reaver's trickery, none which involve hurting her in any way.

"As I recall, it has been five months to the day that you valiantly triumphed over our previous King, your most delectable _derriere_ having taken over your sibling's on the throne." The Queen is no fool for Reaver's shameless flattery. Even still, she allows him to continue uninterrupted, despite the many nervous stares her guards throw her way as Reaver grows even closer.

"What I find most peculiar, is that there has been no party to celebrate your victory! Why, even the miscreants in the streets have had _their _celebrations." Reaver's lean frame now towers over the Queen, her warm eyes watching him with every ounce of skepticism.

"They are not miscreants Reaver. They are **my** people, **my** subjects. Just as you are."

Reaver scoffs at the notion of being equal to any of those urchins that inhabited the city, let alone the idea of **belonging** to anyone. He runs a gloved hand through his perfectly styled hair, summoning up a charming smile despite the burning distaste growing beneath it.

"Well then, you will agree with me then that they…_deserve_ to see their Queen have some fun! Lighten the mood a bit. All this business with darkness and evil is becoming quite dull."

The young Queen raises a finger to her lips, contemplating the situation now thrown before her feet. While she finds Reaver's manner insulting, both to herself and her subjects, she cannot disagree with the observation that they all do deserve some moments of levity. What would be the purpose of saving this land if all it's people have lost hope? It will be hope, after all, that helps her dispel The Darkness in the end.

The Queen raises from her throne, the guards surrounding her all snapping into attention. Her beautifully painted face regards the man standing only a foot away, her chin raised to meet his smoldering glare.

"Alright Reaver, I submit. You shall have your party." The Queen moves to shake Reaver's hand, but the industrial tyrant has other plans in mind. He snatches her hand, lifting it up to his lips and kissing lightly against her knuckles.

Even the great Hero of Albion cannot fight the rose tint now rushing across her cheeks. Reaver's bold moves are both surprising and unwanted, yet somewhat refreshing. Since her coronation, the Queen has felt like some sort of glass doll, too fragile to touch, too rare to approach. A stark contrast to the time spent as a rebel princess and warrior. It is almost alien to her to simply feel as a woman receiving affectionate attention from a handsome man.

A cheshire grin forms across Reaver's lips, his sly eyes peeking down at the blushing Queen from beneath his towering top hat. He leans down slightly to her level, his voice dropping low and hushed so only his intended target will hear the words leaving his cursed lips.

"You will **not **regret this, my dear."

The Queen rolls her eyes lazily, shifting slightly back to regard the sickeningly perfect man.

"Highly doubtful."

Reaver's haunting laugh echoes around the room, giving each one of the stoic guards a fright. The tattooed heart right beneath his eye pinches slightly as he casts the Queen one more of his trademark grins, once again "bowing" before her.

"It will be great my Queen, do not fret." He turns to make his leave with his white tailored jacket flowing elegantly in his wake, "My servants will be in touch! Once I nail down all the details and such. Oh, and do be a dear and wear something red, that **is** my favorite after all. We will look so ravishing in red, I think."

"We?" The word rings in the Queen's ears like a sour note, her chestnut hair falling onto her shoulder as her head tilts to the side ever so slightly. Reaver spins on his heels, his grin growing even wider, if possible.

"Of course! It just simply will not do for you to arrive un-escorted, my sweet. Nor, for me to allow any man to be seen with such stunning beauty, but myself." Reaver turns once more, leaving the Queen stunned into silence.

"And please, do not be late, we will have to prepare an entrance after all. Ta!"

The giant doors to the throne room slam shut before the Queen can utter a single syllable. She falls back into the throne silently with her head falling into her hands to cradle her buzzing mind. A million thoughts seem to run rampant thoughout her head. Surely, her crown will soon burst from the pressure.

"Timothy, that is your name?" She calls out to the guard nearest her. He is a frail thing, but courageous to the bone. The Queen had always taken note to keep him close, not so much for her protection, but his own. All those years in comfort on the throne have done little to diminish her skill with a weapon.

Timothy nervously glances to his Queen, clicking his heels and saluting with respect.

"Alert Jasper to send word to the royal tailor. Tell them both to meet me in my quarters at noon."

"Yes, your majesty."

The young guard hides his smile as he turns from the Queen. The kingdom does so love when their Queen dresses in her finest. None more so than the guards that inhabit and guard the castle. Many a night would each dream of a romantic encounter with their unmarried Queen. Foolish dreams, but satisfying none the less.

The Queen is far too preoccupied to notice the knowing smirks or playful nudges that pass throughout her royal guard. A single thought surfaces, much more troubling than all the rest.

Page is **not **going to like this…


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: Fable 3, Reaver and all other character and game plotlines belong to Lionhead_

_My Queen is my own, and so is this story._

_A/N: Whew, didn't think I'd get this one out so early. But, when the mood strikes, you just can't fight it! I like this chapter, and it is probably the longest chapter I have ever written for either of my stories. Thank you all so much for the wonderful reviews! I hope you enjoy!_

___Update 15/6/2013: As I wish to pick up this story and become more familiar with it, I am going back to edit and tweak previous chapters. _

* * *

_Here we go again_

_We're sick like animals_

_We play pretend_

_You're just a cannibal_

_And I'm afraid I wont get out alive_

_No I wont sleep tonight_

_Animal ~ Neon Trees_

By mid-afternoon the next week, news had already spread all throughout Bowerstone of the sure-to-be grand Celebration Ball to be hosted and funded by Reaver Industries. Much to the Queen's frustration, rumors as to the relationship between the monarch and the Industrialist had **also** begun to circulate as well.

"They are saying what!" If not for the stubborn tailor gripping at her feet, the Queen would surely have leapt from the raised platform where she now stands. They had been gathering the final measurements for her gown since dawn, her patience already waning to the point of non-existence.

"Please, my lady, calm yourself!" Jasper's elderly hands gently grasp the Queen's, petting them in what he hopes will be a soothing manner. The Queen is not swayed, her fierce glance locking on the frail, easily kick-able, man now pinning the hemline.

"Jasper, how am I supposed to be anything but alarmed? They are saying that I am **involved**with that snake of a man!" Jasper notices the faint blue will lines now pulsing across the Queen's flesh, thankful that both her weapons and gauntlets are safely locked away in the sanctuary.

"It's only a rumor your majesty, you mustn't let it get to you. Why, they could say the same thing of us if they pleased!"

"That would be a much more agreeable lie, my friend." The Queen sighs. Of all the nonsensical, absurd…nonsense! Had she not proven to her people just what kind of person she is? Truly, a kind, pure hearted Queen such as the one she hoped she portrays would **never **associate herself romantically with a man such as Reaver. Whispers of the Queens reasons for not yet having chosen a husband had always made their way back to her ears. But not even the one about her possibly preferring other females had been this troubling!

"Would it be horribly rude of me to cancel the party just two days before it's occurrence?" The Queen stares hopefully down at her lifetime caretaker, his warm smile only slightly reassuring. He shakes his head while chuckling at the Queen lightly.

"I'm afraid so. The kingdom is already quite in an uproar. It is said that Reaver has even extended his invitations to that of the lesser classes."

Now **that** is a surprise. If the Queen wasn't so sure that Reaver does not have a soul, she might have begun to entertain the idea that maybe he wasn't so vile.

It disturbs the Queen to be focusing so much of her thoughts on the man, deciding instead to shift her attention to the elaborate dress now entering it's final stages of completion. The floor length mirror opposite her allows a full view of every intricate pattern the tailors had labored over these past few days.

Gold embroidery snakes its way all across her abdomen, meeting at the point of a plunging deep V neckline. The sleeves stop just beneath her shoulders, and her hands are covered by lace gloves that reach an inch below her wrists, all which allow a generous view of her porcelain skin. The hem of her dress flares out in a manner that reminds her of her youth as a Princess. Much too elegant for the task of running within the sewers and swamps that her adventures typically led to. Above all, the color of her gown is most striking. It is sure to cause a stir among the guests, and more importantly, the host.

The Queen has chosen a stark black for the occasion, separating herself drastically from the color lustful nobles, and most certainly the red clad Reaver.

"Oh Carvier, this dress is just divine! Be sure to thank your staff on my behalf, as well as adding a hefty bonus to their pay." The tailor beams up at the Queen. He would be sure to spread her praises of his work all throughout the town, though, not so much including the second part of her requests. He **is **a business man after all.

"Anything for you my Queen, though, I do still believe your beauty would be even more stunning with some purples…maybe even a blue or red!"

"No thank you Carvier, the gold and black is just perfect." The Queen steps down gracefully, her height still much greater than that of either Jasper or the tailor. She glances over to the door leading out to the balcony. A slight breeze is blowing at the curtains, seeming too tempting after such a long day of playing mannequin.

"Jasper, please escort our guest to the treasury for his payment. I wish to be alone for a moment."

"Of course your majesty." Both Jasper and Carvier bow out to the Queen, making their leave without even a moments hesitation.

Pinching up her dress at the leg, the Queen makes her way over to the balcony and allows the full landscape of her city coming into view. The light wind whips her long hair against her cheeks playfully, her hands finding the cement railing as she rests lazily upon it. Calm winds are so rare in Albion these days. It is a result most likely relating to the unimaginable evil slowly creeping its way to the lands. A chill shoots up the Queen's spine in remembrance of her first encounter with The Darkness, the haunting voice still sickeningly present in her nightmares. Many a night had she woken up, screaming for Walter, clawing at her own skin as if the tar like substance is still upon her.

The sound of a carriage against cobblestone shakes the Queen from the less than favorable memories, her eyes dropping to the new arrival now approaching the castle steps. The double R's branded against the vehicle's side reveals any attempt of secrecy for the owner's identity, Reaver's iconic top hat and fur lined suit appearing a second after it comes to a halt.

"Of course." The Queen groans beneath her breath, disappearing into her bedroom once more.

* * *

Reaver scowls as he steps from his carriage. It is **far **too bright this day for his liking, his gloved hand reaching up to pull the dark tinted goggles over his eyes.

"Ah, much better."

"Mr. Reaver, sir, the royal guard informs us that due to your, um…unannounced arrival, Her Majesty the Queen will be unable to greet you in person." The young female servant does not dare to look Reaver in the eye. Having served him now for almost a year, she knows full well the consequences of such foolish actions.

"Oh? What a pity." Reaver taps his chin thoughtfully while letting his gaze drift up to the massive castle wall. Just above him a dark shadow catches his eye, the flash of a slender brunette on the highest balcony turning and vanishing into the castle not escaping his notice. The instincts in his blood alert him to the presence of another Hero nearby, a sly grin creeping its way onto his lips.

"Well!" Reaver claps his hand, the petite servant nearly fainting in shock, "I guess I will just have to show myself in then. Do be a love and, let's just keep it between us, hush hush. I believe the Queen so does love surprises." He winks at the blonde, rapping her on the behind roughly before leaping from the top carriage step and walking jubilantly towards the castle entrance.

* * *

It takes the Queen more than ten minutes to fully undress from that elaborate garment, her naked form emerging from behind the dressing screen. Her hair hangs free from it's usual constraints and frames her heart shaped face, loose curls reaching down to just below her breasts. She hums a tune, sung by her mother almost every night before she was put to bed.

_Down by the reeds_

_A twisted path leads_

_To Banshee's who breathe out_

_A cold winters breeze_

_Nobody knows_

_Nobody sees_

_The sirens of Oakvale_

_Down by the reeds_

It is a song, her mother had said, that was taught to her by one of her most loyal companions, and dearest of friends. Faint memories of a large red-headed woman sometimes accompanied the Queen's thoughts whenever she catches herself singing that song. As best as she can remember the woman had always been very kind, if a bit intimidating.

The Queen reaches for the silk robe draped across a lounge chair and slips it over her shoulders. Just as she moves to tie the sash, the door to her bedroom bursts open. Instinctively, the Queen rolls with trained agility, removing a decorative knights sword from its sheath and positioning herself to face the intruder.

"Good afternoon my dear! Such a beautiful day to be cooped up in one's room, don't you think? Although, now that I think about it, an afternoon in the bedroom of one such as you does begin to sound rather appealing." Reaver grins wickedly at the crouching Queen, appearing uncaring as to the gleaming sword pointed threateningly in his general direction. He kicks the doors shut behind him, strolling into the room casually while removing his hat and jacket.

"Reaver, I guess I shouldn't really be surprised." The Queen regains her composure, still clutching the decorative sword with one hand. The other grips tightly at her naval, the only thing holding her robe closed at the moment. In her haste the sash had, unbeknownst to the Queen, entangled itself in the edges of the armored statue.

"Well darling, when your delightful guards informed me of your unavailability, I became most concerned. Naturally, I found it most urgent to come, _investigate_." Reaver's directs his gaze to the Queen's current state of undress. Instantly, images of her battle toned body entwined with his own fills Reaver's thoughts, stroking the flames of his desire. Screams of ecstasy can almost be heard purring from her luscious lips, as well as the continuous praise of his skill as a lover and most gifted anatomy.

"Reaver?" The Queen moves a step back from the fast approaching man, familiar to the look of lust and hunger burning beneath his glare. She raises her sword only to have Reaver knock it away thoughtlessly with his cane. Both objects clatter to the floor, the Queen now trapped between the stone wall and Reaver.

"Did I mention," Reaver cranes his head down to rest in the crook of her neck, his arms entrapping her on both sides, "How **ravishing** you look in that robe?"

"I am not one of your whores Reaver," The Queen shoves at his chest, forcing him back as she regards him with disgust, "I will not be swayed, nor seduced, by your venomous charms."

Reaver sighs, brushing a loose strand of black hair away from his eyes, still undeterred by the Queen's rejection.

"Ah, very well. Play hard to get, it will only make my victory all the sweeter, my little mouse." Reaver turns from the Queen, his hand snatching the missing sash from the statue and untangling it in one fluid movement. He hands it back to the Queen, eyeing him skeptically as she accepts. As she assures that her nudity will remain hidden, Reaver moves towards the piano adjacent to her bed. A high pitched note rings out across the room as he lays a single finger on a single key, the sound dying out just as he turns to glance at the Queen once more.

"I bet you wondering, just **what** reason could possibly drive me to seek you out this day."

"Besides trying to bed me?"

Reaver chuckles lightly, hitting the next note just as violently as the first.

"Believe me, my Queen. If I really wanted you, I would have you." The Queen is unsure as to how she should take that comment, knowing full well that Reaver, more often than not, just prefers to toy with her.

"So then, why are you here Reaver? Surely anything concerning the party would have been sent with one of your servants." The Queen harbors sincere regret for any employed under the service of Reaver. She makes sure to shower them with many luxuries as soon as they had enter her premises. She is also careful as to not let any of those luxuries be known to Reaver for the fear of his retaliation against them.

"True enough. I come here today to see if** you** have any new information for me, my Queen. Any requests? Demands?" Reaver pauses, hitting the next note off key, "Change of plans?"

The Queen bites her lip, silently praising herself for having Jasper remove the dress from her quarters just moments ago to make any last minute touch ups. After all, Reaver still believes that she will be matching her ensemble to his. The last nail in the coffin of their rumored affair.

"I assume it would be too much to ask that you would not be in attendance."

Reaver laughs obnoxiously once more and plays three notes to accent the sound.

"Beauty and humor, all in one perfect package. My dear, you truly are a delight!" Reaver sits on the bench to the piano, his fingers coming to life to dance across the keys. An upbeat tune soon engulfs the room, the Queen finding herself involuntarily tapping her foot. He is making himself much to comfortable for her liking, his presence undesirable to begin with. After a few minutes of music the Queen approaches Reaver from behind, her delicate hand resting against the glossy ebony surface of the instrument.

"If that is all Reaver, I-"

"That tune you were humming before," Slowly Reaver begins playing the tune of her mother's lullaby flawlessly, the Queen's mouth parting in surprise, "Where did you learn such a song? I find myself curiously familiar with it, yet I have no recollection of exactly what from"

The Queen is curious as well, unaware of any other beside her mother and the masculine woman who knew the tune. Reaver has made it aware that he acquires some familiarity with her mother. Exactly how much, she is not sure, but it is simply too hard to believe that she could possibly pass along such a treasured thing so freely.

"It…it was a song of my mother's, taught to her by a dear friend. She sang it to me each night," The Queen falls onto the bench along with Reaver, watching his hands move elegantly over the ivory teeth, "It is one of the many tales of Oakvale."

Reaver jumps back as if electrocuted, his sudden movements catching the Queen off guard and causing the bench to topple over. She hits the ground with a dull 'thud', the bench pinning her robe and revealing her leg bare up to the thigh. She doesn't notice however, her brown eyes stuck on Reaver towering over her, his expression unreadable and his gaze not meeting hers.

"Reaver?"

Without any offer of assistance or explanation to the fallen woman, Reaver makes a quick exit. In his haste he barely remembers to snatch his hat and jacket near the door.

The Queen remains on the floor for a time, silent, staring at the door Reaver so hurriedly escaped from. She somewhat expects him to pop his head back in, grinning sheepishly and making some remark about her "lovely legs" or accusing her of being clumsy.

After a few more moments of neither occurring the Queen pulls herself up, placing the bench back in its previous position and returning to what she had been trying to accomplish before that retched man even arrived.

A long, hot bath is exactly what the Queen needs after all that madness.

As she begins to move towards the bathing room, a slight shine catches her eye on the floor. She realizes that in his haste, Reaver forgot his cane of all things. As far as she can remember, she had never seen the man without it.

"How odd…"

The Queen ponders this for a moment, reaching down and picking up the polished object and balancing it between her fingers. It is surprisingly light and crafted from a material unrecognizable to her eyes. A brilliant thought pops into her mind as she twirls it playfully.

The Queen has just acquired something more valuable than even the Aurorian diamond itself.

Leverage.


	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer: Fable 3, Reaver and all other character and game plotlines belong to Lionhead._

_My Queen is my own, and so is this story._

_R/N: __**Hello**__ my lovelies! I have just recently been informed of the growing popularity of this most delicious story. Not surprising, it __**is**__ about myself, after all. Just popping by to say my thanks to you all, my loves. Now now, no nasty little reviews, or I will be forced to start handing out some of my famous "prizes" and we wouldn't want that to happen, most dreadful. Tatty bye!_

___Update 15/6/2013: As I wish to pick up this story and become more familiar with it, I am going back to edit and tweak previous chapters. _

* * *

_I have no defense_

_I know you're gonna get me in the end_

_And I cannot pretend_

_I ever want to feel this way again_

_Get a Little More ~ Maroon 5_

The morning of the Coronation Ball begins as dark and dreary as the Queen's mood. Harsh winds and sharp drops of rain beat down unyielding against the bedroom windows, the Queen already awake and pacing in her fine nightgown.

"Say it again Jasper." The Queen gnaws at the inside of her cheek while refusing to meet Jasper's watchful glare. The elderly butler lets out an exhausted sigh.

"It will be a great charity to allow the people to see their Queen carefree for an evening. It will be sure to boost moral."

The Queen moans and collapses onto the nearby lounging chair. Her gaze drifts out to meet the cloudy skyline, the pitter patter of raindrops against glass becoming increasingly soothing. She hadn't slept all night, dark circles forming beneath her distant glare. Nothing makeup cant hide. Thankfully the stylist is already said to be making her way to the castle with an unusually large entourage. A crowd had already begun to form at the gates, those not privileged enough to attend hoping to catch a glance of the sure to be enchanting Queen.

"Your Majesty, I do so wish you would allow yourself to simply **entertain **the notion of possibly enjoying the party." Jasper sighs, moving over to allow what little sun shines outside to pour into the room. The Queen doesn't respond, her hand falling to her side. Unseen, her hand grips at the black cane nestled secretly beneath the cushions. She finds herself strangely calmed by the object, her slender fingers stroking the mysterious metal lovingly.

"Oh, perhaps you're right Jasper." Her grip tightens around the cane, "I mean, it's not as if I will be forced to stay at that _monster's_ side all evening."

"That's the spirit! Now, let's get up and get you dressed. As I recall, a few old friends should be making their return from-"

As if on cue a faint barking erupts from somewhere inside the castle. A loud, booming laugh soon follows. The Queen jumps up from her chair without a word, a grin as wide as Bower Lake playing across her lips. She rushes from her bedroom, uncaring as the guard posted outside her door stares on in both confusion, and slight admiration of her much-to-thin ensemble.

"Walter!" The Queen leaps into the arms of her longtime mentor and lifetime friend. Walter catches her with ease, though slightly grunting at her unexpected appearance. A low growl emits at their feet, the Queen pulling back from his grasp to glance at the hound. He huffs at her impatiently, clearly displeased to not be the first recipient of her greetings.

"Oh, there's my favorite boy!" She unlocks her grip from Walter, kneeling down and catching the dog now leaping into herarms.

"Hey! What about me? Doesn't the handsome man who saved your life, on numerous occasions I might add, get a greeting?" Benn Finn crosses his arms and glares stubbornly down at the Queen. She laughs in response, standing up to kiss the solider lightly against the cheek.

"How was your trip? Did you find some suitable soldiers in Aurora? Oh, there is just so much to discuss! Come, let us move to my bedroom," The Queen's glare immediately snaps over to Benn, "Mind out of the gutter there soldier."

"Sorry mum, force of habit." Benn shrugs, moving in line with Walter and following the Queen back to her quarters.

As the group makes their way through the halls, Walter can't help but notice the sickly appearance of the usually glowing Queen. She is nowhere near as toned as she had been when they had left her so many months ago. The nightgown she wears is practically hanging off her much too thin frame. He very much expected to see her quite the opposite, after months of sitting in court and enjoying the many luxuries that the castle kitchens have to offer. It concerns the fatherly figure greatly, deciding to question the Queen heavily about it at a later, more secluded time.

"So, what's this we've been hearing about a party?" Benn moves up to walk alongside the Queen, his styled blonde hair bouncing around humorously. It takes all his self control to not gawk at the Queen whenever he finds himself in her presence, his resistance to that of beautiful women famously weak.

"Yes, well…it's a bit of a long story." The Queen drops her head low, sighing as she begins to recall the events of the week prior to her companions.

* * *

It is nearly afternoon by the time Reaver finally stirs from his slumber, his long torso stretching languidly as he sits up. The naked woman next to him grumbles sleepily as he untangles her arms from around his waist, also taking the time to kick off the muscular leg that the man on Reaver's opposite side locked within his own.

Emotionless, Reaver glances around at the three occupants lying unconscious in his bed, his own naked body cautiously navigating through the mess of limbs and discarded clothing. At last he escapes, not even hesitating as he makes his way to the weapons cabinet adjacent the still lit fireplace.

A gunshot erupts, all three sleeping forms jumping into alertness and glancing over to the source of the noise.

"Wakey wakey! No time to lie around in bed all day, I'm afraid." Reaver pivots the pistol in his grasp to face the most frightened looking morsel, smirking as he cocks back the hammer.

"You all now have to the count of ten to get your things and vacate the premises. Ten." Reaver pulls the trigger, a bullet sending blonde hair flying as it grazes the woman's head. In an instant Reaver's bedroom is once again unoccupied, it's former guests not even bothering to grab their property. He saunters over to a particularly charming jacket, folding it over his arm and placing it in his own armoire. The many servants assigned to his chambers are already making work of the rest of the mess left strewn across the floor.

Reaver folds his arms over his bare chest, watching them move about with disinterest and some annoyance. The fact that none have complimented him on his glorious form, or something equally enlightening, is irritating. He ponders the pistol in his grasp for a moment, deciding against bloodying up the walls of his new mansion today. It was the day of the party after all. There are sure to be many more lovelies parading through here tonight, and with luck, the Queen herself will be one of them.

Reaver smirks, the mere thought of his most ravishing Queen sending a sharp tingle throughout his entire body.

"You there!" The petite red-headed girl stumbles over the nightstand she had been previously cleaning, her terrified eyes blinking up at him "Be a dear and draw me a bath." She nods ferociously, scampering up and towards the bathroom door. Reaver snatches her by the wrists as she attempts to pass, his lustful appetite not yet satiated.

"You **will** be joining me as well, my little sweet." Her pale cheeks blush, looking ever so adorable against the many freckles adorning them. Reaver usually isn't one for gingers, but then again, he isn't particularly that picky when it comes to things of the more _carnal _nature. He relinquishes his hold of her, the young servant even more off-balance than before.

After a moment of arrogant pride, allowing all in view to admire his most perfect form, Reaver turns to follow the girl, more than intrigued to find out just how far down those adorable little freckles go.

* * *

Benn Finn is certain he had died. It was probably those Sand Furies, with their form fitting outfits and agile moves. Much too distracting.

What other possible explanation could there be to the divine angel currently clinging to his arm. The Queen was a vision of beauty before. Even caked in mud and swamp water, her hair soaked with blood and sweat as when he had first met her, she was stunning to his eyes. Whether it was from lack of any female contact after four months stationed at that hellhole, he isn't sure. But now, her hair piled atop her head, mesmerizing curls framing her soft face. And that dress! There are simply no words to describe the woman he is now leading through the streets of Bowerstone, her royal guard only a few steps behind. Surely, every man in Albion must envy him now!

"I do wish everyone would stop staring." The Queen groans, forcing a smile towards another gushing group of citizens. Benn only shrugs, still struggling to coherently formulate a complete sentence.

Reaver's mansion can be seen from nearly a block away, along with an enormous crowd encircling the gates. The building itself seems to be aglow, lively music echoing throughout the streets. The royal guard takes position, surrounding the Queen before the mass mob can become aware of her presence and overtake her. Walter, who now stands at the head of the entourage, clears his throat, signaling wordlessly to the soldiers behind to ready themselves.

"Attention citizens of Albion! Make way for her Majesty, The Queen!" A massive cheer erupts within the crowd, followed by the huge rush of people running their way. The numerous guards stand their ground, Benn Finn involuntarily pulling the Queen in slightly closer. For her own protection, or his own, he doesn't give it much thought.

"Alright, move it! Come on now!" Walter's frustrated grumblings can be heard from up ahead, the royal guard inching slowly closer to the gates. A gunshot rings out throughout the chaotic night air, an immediate hush falling over the crowd.

The Queen blows away the smoke curling from the end of her pistol. With her arms now free of Benn, she somehow manages to make it past the ring of guards that are intent on protecting her.

"My people!" The Queen's sing-song voice rings out like a calming melody, all eyes turning to her radiant form perched high up on the stone railing of the path.

"I thank you all for being here tonight. Though regrettably, not all of you will be able to join in my celebration, be sure, you will all be in my mind, and my heart." Another cheer erupts from the crowd, a break forming wide enough for both the Queen and her entourage to continue their way to the manor. Many hands reach up to help the Queen down to return to Benn's side, much to his pleasure. She sends warm smiles and informal waves to her adoring public before disappearing behind the safety of the iron gates, a small portion of her guard remaining outside to secure the peace.

"Handled like a true Queen, you majesty." Walter joins the duo, taking up the Queen's other arm and continuing to escort her up the steps.


	4. Chapter 4

_Disclaimer: Fable 3, Reaver and all other character and game plotlines belong to Lionhead._

_My Queen is my own, and so is this story._

_A/N: I've been browsing through Deviant art, getting a lot of inspiration for this one. There are so many talented artists on there that just adore Reaver as much as I, so you guys should really check it out if you haven't already. This one goes out to all my fellow Benjamina's out there, time to party!_

___Update 15/6/2013: As I wish to pick up this story and become more familiar with it, I am going back to edit and tweak previous chapters. _

* * *

_And I want these words to make things right_

_But it's the wrongs that make the words come to life_

_Who does he think he is?_

_If that's the worst you got, better put your fingers back to the keys_

_Thnks fr th Mmrs ~ Fall Out Boy_

Reaver had **really **outdone himself this time.

A clash of bright colors and loud music assaults the Queen as she enters the main hall, already full to bursting with a mix of both nobles and commoners scattered about. Many bow in respect to her presence, the rest only clap their hands and raise their up-turned noses, whispering petty insults. Such is the usual reaction to the Queen.

"Ah! Now I remember why I've always hated these things." Walter fidgets with the emerald suit Jasper practically forced him into, "Ben! Quit gawking like an idiot and go find Reaver. I'm sure our _host_ will want to know of our arrival."

Ben shakes his head, his eyes previously stuck on the scandalously clad woman passing out drinks. The Queen is barely able to contain her amusement at the sight. It only figures that Reaver would have to include some sort shamelessness, even in such a formal event such as this. She can just picture his smug grin watching somewhere, unseen, as the party plays out before him. He always struck her as the voyeur type.

Ben disappears into the crowd, the Queen fully believing she will not see him again till sometime the next day, possibly without his clothes nor any sort of remembrance of the night before.

"Your Majesty," Walter pats the lacy hand tucked beneath his arm, the Queen's brown eyes raising to meet his, "You look lovely tonight, but I must ask, what is with that cane?"

The Queen untangles her arm from his grasp, her other free hand swinging the cane up freely. Another wave of what she decides is pleasure washes throughout her, a sly grin cracking across her heavily painted lips.

"I don't know, might come in handy if I have to whack around some touchy nobles, no?" Walter chuckles lightly, shaking his head. Just as the Queen begins to relax, a familiar rush of unease takes over her limbs, the sudden sense of being watched completely overwhelming.

"My friends! I believe our guest of honor has finally decided to bless us with her presence! Your Majesty!" Horror strikes at the Queen's heart as she glances up to see Reaver slowly descending the stairs, the sight of his ensemble hitting her like a punch to the gut. His suit almost exactly compliments her own, dressed head to toe in black, gold lining running the outer length of his jacket. His top hat is average when compared to the usual one he sports, a gold stained flower tucked perfectly above the brim.

"You're late."

Reaver comes to a halt just inches from the Queen, completely ignoring the chilly glares from Walter at her side.

"I must admit, when my tailor first informed me that you decided upon black as your color of choice, I found myself a **bit** skeptical. But my dear, you have quite the taste! We look just marvelous!"

Reaver's hands manage to snake their way around the Queen's waist, tugging her forcibly to his side . Walter reluctantly lets her go with the snake, privately eyeing the cane, hoping Reaver will be the first to suffer it's wrath.

Reaver effortlessly spins the Queen beneath his arm, winking slyly before yanking her back into his chest roughly. His lips brush against her exposed neck, arms locking around her torso creating an inescapable prison.

"You look especially radiant, my midnight treat." Reaver whispers huskily in the Queens ear, his eyes traveling down her neck to her perky bosoms. A slight glimmer catches his eye, his glance reluctantly shifting to the cane held tightly within the Queens grasp.

"Mmm. Now, I believe that belongs to me, you delightful little thief. How very **naughty **of you."

The Queen has had just about as much as she can take from Reaver, already so very tired of being used as his accessory. Her elbow jerks back to hit him directly below the ribs. Reaver reacts by squeezing the Queen tighter, his grip on her turning to something more of a sinister nature as she struggles against him. His strength is unexpected. Being a Hero, she always found the efforts of those around her quite easily outmatched in comparison. Then again, Reaver is not some ordinary townsperson, nor even mortal as far as the Queen knows. Truth be told, she knows very little of the Industrial tycoon, other than that of his retched personality and disagreeable interests.

"It's quite an interesting little _objet damne _of mine_. _Perhaps I could enlighten you with that rather exciting tale over breakfast? Or, if you are finding yourself most impatient, I could include it in a little pillow talk." Reaver growls seductively as he grinds his hips into the Queens backside, finding himself unhappy to be met with only layers of cloth and silks.

For once, the Queen is very thankful of the pointless, elaborate fashions that are expected of royalty these days.

Suddenly, Reaver releases the Queen from his iron grip, his presence disappearing from behind her entirely just as soon as it had appeared. Curiosity eventually gets the better of her, turning around to spot the new object of his interests.

Another imagined hit to the stomach manages to strike the Queen, this time though, it drives straight through her heart.

Standing near the door, looking rather fearful, is the only man the Queen had ever loved. The warm arms that once embraced her are now wrapped around his pretty wife, her protruding belly announcing their love to all those in the room. The cane so tightly wrapped in her grasp falls to the floor, the sound never reaching the Queen's ears.

"Why Master Elliot! So glad you could join us, and with your lovely wife, practically glowing! What are we, five, six months along now? Just splendid." Reaver almost seems to consider rubbing the pregnant woman's stomach, instantly deciding against it and only shaking her hand rather awkwardly. His sly eyes roam the crowd, knowingly falling upon the Queen still rooted to the spot where he had left her.

"Your Majesty! Come, greet your guests! We don't want to seem **rude** now, do we?"

The Queen cannot move, she cannot breathe. She feels as if the world is collapsing around her, unable to break her gaze from the bump that seems to be taunting her. The faint tug of Reaver's arm once again wrapping possessively around her waist pulls her along, the fingers of his free hand dancing playfully against any amount of exposed flesh he can find.

"Elliot." The Queen can only mutter her former lover's name, her dead eyes not even slightly able to lift from her shoes.

"Your Majesty." The Queen feels as if she had just been slapped as Elliot bows down before her, his boyish, shaggy hair falling into his eyes as it had done so many times before. The urge to reach out to him, to brush away that hair and kiss him is almost maddening. Reaver is much too preoccupied with his distracted Queen's body to even slightly notice, or care for that matter. In his mind, everything is going swimmingly!

"Maestro!" Reaver snaps at the band, his tall stature allowing him easy sight of almost everything and everyone in the room, "Something lively for my guests! I'm feeling most peppy, and craving a dance."

A swirl of bodies and faces pass through the Queen's vision as she is swept away to the dance floor. Reaver's hand finds it's appropriate position on her hip, the other snatching up her limp fingers.

With an aggressive tug he draws the Queen in close, licking his lips as he revels in the feeling of her breasts pressing firmly up against him.

"You are **mine** tonight, your Majesty." He plucks the gold flower from his hat and places it safely in the vast amount of curls adorning the Queen's head, "Let us enjoy life!"

The upbeat mix of piano, violin, lute and numerous other instruments emit throughout the room, other couples soon following Reaver's example and joining the dance floor. The Queen's eyes follow Elliot and his bride as they too enter the dance floor, his loving hands caressing her swollen belly before twirling her joyfully around.

Had she not been the one who sent him away? He had given her the choice after all. But how could he expect her to be the one to take someone's love away? Just as he had been taken from her. She would be no better than Logan had she told him to choose her over the commoner who so deftly stole his heart in her absence.

Still, their outright expression of their love infuriates the Queen, Reaver's roaming hands feeling numb against her glowing skin. Carefully, he traces the intricate will lines crawling across her body, his one arm supporting her full weight as he dips her dangerously low to the floor.

"My dear, I am finding myself most bored with your lack of attention. I mean surely, **my **handsome face is clearly more deserving of those most intense stares, than the Shelter Boy."

Sure to Reaver's wish, the Queen's furious eyes snap up to the joyful green ones peeking down at her, his dark eyebrow quirking in amusement.

"You…you vile snake!" Reaver jerks the Queen's body upwards and catches her swinging hand with his own. She pushes against his chest with her only free hand, Reaver pulling her even closer and molding her body against his own.

"You planned this! You invited them knowing how it would make me feel!" Reaver leads the Queen in a dance of what is turning into a fight of wills, elegantly spinning and gliding among the massive crowd that exists around them.

Reaver laughs horridly, noting how lovely the Queen's glowing, now blue, eyes twinkle up at him in rage. Angry sex with the woman must be marvelous!

"My my, you have some deviant little ideas swirling around in that pretty head of yours. And here I thought you were all sweetness and purity." Reaver clicks his tongue at the Queen, daringly lowering his head to nibble at her collarbone. He can feel every muscle tighten beneath her dress, her footing shifting slightly in a manner that Reaver is all too familiar with.

The Queen is going to kick him, hard. And if luck allowed, she is hoping to make him use that cane for just more than a fashion statement.

Reaver is one step ahead of her, once again twirling her off and away from his body, careful to keep two of his most prized possessions intact. The Queen is undeterred however, readying herself to land a punch squarely on his oh-so-perfect jaw.

Without any warning, Reaver removes the pistol hidden discreetly beneath his jacket and points it directly at the Queen's forehead. The crowd, either to preoccupied to notice, or too fearful of Reaver's wrath at mentioning anything, continue their dancing unaffected, more laughter and chatter erupting throughout the patrons.

"Perhaps we should continue this_ discussion _elsewhere, my sweet. I know how heated our little banter can get. We would come off as such poor hosts if, say, one of our **unfortunate **guests got hurt, you see." The Queen's eyes widen as Reaver's hand pivots to point the pistol at Elliot and his wife dancing carelessly in the distance, his other hand yet again yanking her forcefully back into him.

The Queen simply nods, relaxing her aggressive stance and letting the blue will lines fade from her skin. She remains silent as Reaver places a hand gently on her lower back, leading her back into the main hall and directing her up the stairs to his bedroom.

The Queen is the first to enter, readying herself as she hears Reaver close and lock the door behind them. She doesn't waste any time to survey her surroundings. His bedroom is a extravagant and flamboyant as the man himself. It is unimportant. She spins on her heels to face Reaver once more, electricity still sparking at her fingertips despite the lack of her gauntlets. Reaver is much too intelligent to face an angry woman, let alone an angry Hero, unprepared. His pistol is once again directed at the Queen's head, his ability to pull the trigger much quicker than that of hers to charge up a spell.

The Queen lets out a disgruntled cry, her hands falling helplessly to her sides as she glares tearfully up at Reaver, still brandishing his weapon.

"What is it you want from me Reaver? To break me? To make me as utterly hopeless and cold as yourself?" She rips out the golden flower still clinging to her hair, tossing it back in his direction, "Well, mission accomplished! I am completely and totally broken!" She turns away to hide her shame, a few clear droplets of tears beginning to stream down her made up face. Where was Walter when she needed him? Probably already drunk downstairs somewhere, retelling one of his favorite war stories to some unfortunate party go-er.

"Now now, my sweet. That is not what I desire from you." The Queen flinches as Reaver's cold hands snake onto her shoulders, his chest pressing lightly against her back, "I only wish to spread love, you see! I merely thought seeing your former flame, so happy with his **new **family, would bring you joy!" Reaver pushes against her shoulder, spinning the Queen around to face him. He cups her chin, thumbing away whatever tears remain.

The Queen blinks slowly, lifting her eyes to stare into Reaver's.

"You are a liar Reaver, and a cheat. I detest everything you stand for, and everything you do." She states as if it were simply a matter of fact, rather than an insult. Without warning, the Queen reaches up and pulls Reaver's face down to meet her own, his lips and teeth crashing against hers with enough force to bruise the next day.

It takes a moment for Reaver to register her mouth on his, recovering quickly and placing each of his hands lustfully against the Queen's body. His hands dance hungrily over her curves, cupping her bottom roughly while pulling her tightly against him. Even through the confining layers of clothing, she can feel him roll his hips against hers. She nips playfully at his lower lip, his tongue slipping into her more than welcoming mouth.

She cups his face gently as their tongues wrestle for dominance, neither the sort to yield control without a good fight. There is really no good reason as to why the Queen is acting like this. Maybe it's the pain of seeing her lost love with another, or maybe Reaver really is just a charming devil whose constant attempts have finally taken hold. In truth, she isn't really trying to figure out why her lips are moving so hungrily against his, or why she doesn't stop his hands ripping at the buttons along the back of her bodice and hiking her skirt up to her thigh.

Just as quickly as it began, the Queen pulls herself away from him, her eyes burning with hate, lust, and everything in between.

"I am not your Queen."

The Queen disrobes her ruined gown for the deviant, wasting no time in pulling him back against her naked body.


	5. Chapter 5

_Disclaimer: Fable 3, Reaver and all other character and game plotlines belong to Lionhead._

_My Queen is my own, and so is this story._

_A/N: Hehe, you guys crack me up. I love reading all your reviews, it motivates me so much more than you could know. This chapter contains some familiar scenes, though I made sure to add my own twists to make it all new and shiny. So expect similar dialogue. Well, here you are my friends, and as Reaver would say, "You will laugh, you will cry, you will have your sinews gnawed upon!"_

___Update 15/6/2013: As I wish to pick up this story and become more familiar with it, I am going back to edit and tweak previous chapters. _

* * *

_It's the same old theme since nineteen-sixteen_

_In your head, in your head they're still fighting_

_With their tanks and their bombs_

_And their bombs and their guns_

_In your head, in your head they are dying_

_Zombie ~ The Cranberries_

The Queen lay serenely in her study, beams of sunlight cascading all across the room. A book covering battle strategies currently holds her attention, her free hand reaching down to scratch at the hound sleeping soundly at her side. For whatever brief moments she is allowed, the Queen tries to spend as much of it as possible in the isolated serenity of this room.

It had been a whole month since the night of the belated Coronation Ball, tales of its stature and magnificence still floating about the townsfolk.

Along with a few _other_ things.

The Queen sighs for a moment, reliving the evening shared in Reaver's bed clearly in her mind's eye. He wasted no time at any attempts of romance, for that the Queen is quite thankful. Nothing loving or intimate occurred that night, and it would be foolish to think so. The Queen simply needed to scratch an inch, one Reaver was **all** too willing to do for her.

Twice.

For once, the Queen allowed herself the simple luxury of satisfying her urges. Nothing more, nothing less.

"I regret nothing." The hounds ears perk up at hearing his mistress's voice, the fingers still caressing lovingly at the scruff of his neck instantly lulling him back into his carefree slumber.

Reaver's skill as a lover are certainly not overstated. The mere memory of his hands moving across her nude flesh, his lips at her neck while he moved rhythmically inside her causing chills. His agility and surprising strength brought her into fits of ecstasy that she had never experienced before, nor even thought possible.

Not since that night had the Queen seen either top hat nor coat tail of Reaver, and for that, she chuckles. Had she known that sex is all it took to be rid of the pest, she would have gone to his bed at the first offer made to both Page and herself at the Masquerade almost a year ago. Though, after a battle including both the spry Sand Furies and ravenous Balverines, she might not have been quite as apt at the act as she had been that night.

"Your Majesty!" The Queen groans as the irking voice of Hobson erupts from the other end of the hall, the book in her hands falling to her lap as she dully taps her fingers against it. She watches as the stocky man hobbles quickly in her direction, his greedy little hands fumbling with a piece of parchment. No doubt it is the list of today's dutiesfor the Queen. Oh, how she detests "The List".

"There you are! I was hoping to find you in the treasury, my lady. You have quite the busy day ahead of you." The Queen once again lets out a lackluster groan, her loyal companion growling at his owners growing signs of displeasure.

"Now now, there's a nice um, doggy." Hobson hesitates as he approaches the Queen, his hand reaching out nervously for the Queen to accept the parchment. She does so, regarding each task scribbled in messy write with the utmost lackof interest. Sabine is to make his first appearance in court today, most certainly to assure the Queen's promise to him at the birth of her rebellion. With the treasury in such a sorry state, despite all her attempts to add funds from her own pocket, it would be yet another setback to the protection of Albion. Then again, the Queen has no intention of breaking her promise to the crazy little mountain dweller. He had been much too vital in her uprising to overlook.

"Ah yes, Kalin speaking for Aurora will be the first task at hand. No doubt Reaver will make an appearance as well, bringing **reason** with him as always." Reaver has just as much **reason **as the Queen could fit in her little finger, but she'd rather not discuss it with Hobson. The man regards the tycoon with so much admiration, she is sure he must be in love. Not too far fetched for the effeminate consolatory adviser.

"After that, the Dweller will be here to state his case for Mistpeak, though, **I **see little point in the matter." Hobson mumbles that last bit just beneath his breath, the Queen much too accustomed to his constant grumblings to scold him otherwise.

"Very good Hobson, you may take your leave. I will adjourn to the throne room shortly." The Queen raises from the extravagant couch she was lying upon, waving off the stubbly little man as she turns to return to her bedroom. The dog follows closely at her heels, throwing back one quick growl at the trembling Hobson before disappearing behind the large wooden doors.

* * *

"I find myself somewhat inclined to agree with Reaver on this matter." If the Queen hadn't recognized the voice as her own, she would have never believed those words just left her lips.

"Building an outpost in Aurora would be a great waste of resources. Resources our kingdom is sorely lacking. I am truly sorry Kalin, my friend, but I must reject your proposal." A dark glare meets the Queen's gaze, Kalin's aged features portraying her apparent shock and betrayal. Reaver, on the other hand, simply stands proud, a devilish grin showing the exact opposite.

"I commend you for **finally** seeing reason, your Majesty! It is quite reassuring to know not all your decisions are swayed by simple matters of morality and what not." Reaver raps his cane lightly against the floor, winking slyly at the Queen from beneath his towering hat.

Kalin steps forward, ignoring Reaver's shameless boasting.

"We had saved you and your friends once from the Darkness. Now in return, you surely have condemned us to death," She glances back to the finely dressed man smirking proudly, "It would seem that the _rumors_ are true after all, your Majesty."

A hushed gasp errupts throughout the entire throne room. The Queen takes a breath to deftly control her temper, despite the growing urge to cast her _friend_ abruptly from the castle steps herself.

"As I said Kalin, I am deeply sorry, but I have already sent all the soldiers I can afford to your lands. The needs of the many overpower the few, and that is my final decision." The Queen's icy gaze dares any in the room to utter another word. Kalin all but spat upon her, the Queen's patience for the cries and pleading of those she once called comrades all but diminished. No matter how much she gives, stays true to her promises and the like, they all just want **more**. It seems their interests in her are only related to the crown that sits upon her head and the power it demands, a thought that curls the Queen's toes and set her blood afire.

"Court is now dismissed. The fate of Mistpeak will be the next item of discussion." Walter effectively clears the room of Kalin and her comrades, not a moment too soon as far as the Queen is concerned. Reaver remains along with a few select nobles, his gleaming eyes not once swaying from the Queen's oddly serene face.

Something is changing within her, this she could sense. Before, the pleas of the downtrodden had all but brought her to tears, sacrificing both life and limb to do all she could to protect them. Now it seems as if she couldn't care less.

Logan's icy glare flashes before the Queen's eyes, his uncaring scowl as he forced her to bring death upon three strangers whose only desire was to be heard.

"You seem most troubled, your Majesty. It is most _enticing_, I must say." Reaver's uncouth drawl draws an unmannerly sneer from the Queen's lips, giggles erupting from within his many admirers within the audience.

"Really though, you mustn't let the whining of the miscreants to worry that delightful face, my sweet. It could cause wrinkles and the like, oh how dreadful." Reaver smirks at the growing aggravation he is causing the Queen, fingers now pinching at the bridge of her nose.

"Reaver, please do shut up." The Queen reclines back in her throne. She watches the birds fluttering about happily outside the windows, refusing to entertain Reaver's playful antics any longer. Or as he would probably call it, foreplay.

Sabine enters the room in a cloud of cigar smoke. His exotic necklace clangs noisily and draws all sorts of attention, just as he probably preferred it. The Queen can't help but grin as her eyes follow the petite man making his way down the isle, grumblings of the warmer climate and "bloody nobles" only increasing her elation at once again seeing the Chieftain.

"It does this old heart good to see that crown on that head, you Majesty. Even better that I was there to help put it there!" Sabine wags a finger at the Queen, a small smile hidden beneath layers of white beard, "But, I come here today only to seek that which was promised to my people. Restore Mistpeak Mountains to that of it's former glory. Do that which you promised us and be rid of the destruction that your brother has put upon us!"

"Your Majesty, do not listen to this shriveled excuse of a leader. This is no _charity_. Make the mountain squatters work for their rewards! Let us expand upon the work your brother had started and-"

"This **shriveled **leader will not hesitate to jump up there and beat your pretty little head senseless Reaver."

The Queen makes no attempt to hide her growing amusement, and adoration, of the scene playing out before her. She only wished Sabine would make more frequent trips to the castle if this was the result. But no, he is no jester, and it is wrong of her to even slightly consider him as much.

"Sabine," The Queen raises from her throne, gracefully gliding down the steps and kneeling before the elderly chieftain, "The Dwellers had suffered greatly, and will do so no more. I will keep my promise made to you all those months ago, for, without the help of you and your people, I surely would not be here now."

Sabine flashes the Queen a rare smile, his hands grasping upon her own as he kisses them lightly.

"Thank you, your Majesty. The beauty of your soul shines bright enough for all to see," His beady little eyes snap up to Reaver, his smile instantly shifting into a scowl.

"Do not let it change."

With that the frail man, by appearance only, turns and leaves the court unannounced, his hefty bodyguard Boulder walking loyally in his wake.

Reaver sighs, the Queen now standing only but a few feet from him. Her eyes no longer hold any of the warmth shown for Sabine.

"Just when I believed you had started to see reason. Very well, your Majesty. Reaver Industries will begin all the necessary evacuations immediately." Reaver attempts some type of bow, his torso rolling forward somewhat off balanced. He uses the proximity of the Queen's presence to his advantage, his voice dropping low and whispering something inaudible to anyone but herself.

The Queen regards Reaver for a moment before nodding her head slowly, the smirk on Reaver's lips growing to that of unimaginable proportions.


	6. Chapter 6

_Disclaimer: Fable 3, Reaver and all other character and game plotlines belong to Lionhead._

_My Queen is my own, and so is this story._

_R/N: Oh deary me! I believe our lovely little writer did leave you at a bit of a cliffhanger there, didn't she? Quite a naughty little scamp she is! Just what could Reaver have whispered to our dear little Queen? Fret not, dear readers, for our intrepid little author has put fingers to the keys once again, and must I say, she has spun the tales of my conquests quite beautifully! Do enjoy my loves, I will be in touch!_

___Update 15/6/2013: As I wish to pick up this story and become more familiar with it, I am going back to edit and tweak previous chapters. _

* * *

_You trick your lovers_

_That you're wicked and divine_

_You may be a sinner_

_But you're innocence is mine_

_Undisclosed Desires ~ Muse_

An odd silence befalls the castle as an even odder trio makes its way throughout the winding halls. No words are spoken, no glances exchanged. Only the soft thuds of footsteps against the carpet echoing against the walls, no servant or soldier serving witness bold enough to remark upon it.

It isn't until the elderly butler Jasper intercepts them, that the Queen realizes this, her gaze snapping from it's dreamy state and focusing on the quizzical look he cast back at her.

"Oh, Jasper." The Queen glances back to her company. The large, brown orbs of her collie glance back up at her with interest, his head lolling slightly to the side. Her other companion merely smirks charmingly, his gloved fingers drumming lightly against the metallic cane held within his grasp.

"Madam," Jasper eyes remain locked on that of Reaver's, skepticism crossing every aged feature of his face, "The kitchen would like to know if you will be taking your dinner in the dining hall."

"No, I still have some…business to attend to. Have them bring the meal to the study, as well as an extra plate for my guest."

"Splendid! I am feeling quite _famished_." Jasper doesn't miss as Reaver's hand moves ever so slightly against the Queen, her stoic face not revealing any hint of what sort of nature drives it.

"Of course, your Majesty. I will pass along the word, along with your thanks, I assume?"

"Oh, y-yes. Thank you Jasper."

The Queen bites her lower lip as the ghost of Reaver's fingers tickling at her spine still linger, a growing warmth sinking from within her belly to her core. She can feel his smoldering glare upon her, stubbornly glancing ahead and continuing the lengthy walk to the study. The sooner she got this over with, the sooner this gnawing weight can be lifted from her shoulders. It is becoming increasingly difficult to focus as soon as Reaver's presence is known, the Queen finding her mind often drifting to that of a completely different nature at the most inopportune moments. This simply just **had **to be done.

The study comes into view not a moment too soon, the kitchen's staff having already beaten the Queen and set forth a lovely dinner display, despite lacking the proper materials.

"You all have done a beautiful job, thank you." The few servants bow before the Queen, unable to yield their wandering glares to that of the man that stands towering behind her. The Queen, either to distracted or embarrassed to notice, moves aside to let the group exit, taking note to lock the large doors behind her. Avo forbid if someone to were walk in on them! She'd be explaining that one to Walter for weeks.

Just as soon as the Queen turns away from the door, Reaver's lips are upon hers, his hands gripping lustfully at any amount of fabric they can reach. He has her pinned beneath his own body and the door, his lean leg fully supporting her from between her thighs as he lifts her off from the floor. The Queen, caught in a moment of shock, can only writhe against him, an animalistic grunt escaping his lips as she involuntarily runs her core against his hardening length.

Mustering all her strength, the Queen forcibly pushes Reaver from her, legs shaking weakly as they connect with the floor once more. The hair that had previously been neatly combed up in a long bun lay in mottled heaps around her face, her crown hanging comically from one of many stray curls.

Reaver huffs impatiently, his own styled hair, having at some point discarded of his top hat, remaining perfectly in place.

"Come now, my dear. This whole cat and mouse game is becoming most tedious. Why delay the inevitable? Especially when the inevitable is so much more _pleasurable_." Reaver advances on her once more, this time the Queen coming prepared. She reaches beneath her skirt, freeing the pistol from its leg holster and directing it squarely at Reaver's chest. He pauses, silently pondering how he would've possibly missed that precious little surprise before.

"Reaver, you fool! **That** is not why I agreed to speak with you in private!" The Queen's breath comes out in haggard spurts, her heart, along with her sex, pulsing furiously in response. Her hound can be heard scratching frantically against the other side of the door, his innate sense of his mistress in danger not waning with age. The Queen groans, lowering the pistol to her side and turning to reopen the door.

"I'm fine boy, see? Just a mis-" Before the Queen can stop him, the dog bursts into the room, pouncing upon Reaver without hesitation. A frightened yelp escapes the man's lips before falling upon a nearby couch, his hands not quick enough to stop the hounds paws from pinning him at the wrists. That dog is too damn smart for his own good.

The Queen hangs back and smirks as the dog growls threateningly from atop Reaver, his barred teeth snapping in response to his every flinch. After a moment of letting it soak in, the Queen intervenes, gently scratching at her pet's neck to gain his attention.

"Good boy! You taught that naughty Reaver a lesson, didn't you?" The hounds fierce snarl is replaced with a lopsided grin, his eyes glancing back down to Reaver before covering his face in sloppy kisses. This causes the Queen even more amusement, unable to contain her laughter as Reaver begins flailing about, attempting to shield his _precious_ face from the relentless onslaught of dog saliva.

"Alright boy, that's enough." The Queen tugs gently at the dog's collar, him all too joyfully leaping off from the disgusted Reaver and moving to lay in his own silk-lined pillow. Reaver begrudgingly sits up, his no longer styled hair molded wildly against his face.

"Not **exactly** the individual I was hoping to be ravished by," He glances to the dog now chewing a bone carelessly, sighing before wiping the drool covered hair from his eyes, "But, I guess one beggar cannot always be the chooser. _Ce la vie_."

The Queen crosses her arms over her chest, regarding the sexual deviant. It is rare, and quite satisfying, to see the primped nobleman in such a sorry state. Even after a night of arduously filling ones bodily urges, Reaver had not a drop of sweat on him. In fact, the Queen is quite sure he had left at some point during her rest and reapplied any makeup that may have been even slightly smudged.

How she, or any of the many woman in Albion, can find that attractive in a **man**, she is not quite sure.

"So! Since it, most regrettably, is not pleasure that you wish to indulge in…yet, what pray tell, is so ultimately pressing that you just had to deceive me into this study, you delightful little tease."

"I did not **deceive** you Reaver, I never said anything about sex."

"Ah yes, but that ensemble, along with those vacant eyes that were so understandably fixated upon myself, speak volumes my pet." Reaver reclines back on the couch, crossing his legs while patting the empty cushion seat beside him.

"Believe what you wish Reaver," The Queen turns away from him, worry wearing against her already heavy shoulders. The hound in the distance whines miserably, watching his mistress once again pace the room with concern. He watched her do this, on numerous occasions now, mostly occurring at much later hours of the night. Sometimes, she wakes up screaming, and other times, crying. These are not the Darkness dreams that once plagued her dreams, these the dog can recognize. The names of her friends would be on her lips for those, and she never cries in **those **dreams. Something more sinister, more heart wrenching is occurring while his mistress sleeps, and it tears the hound up that he cannot save her from it. This human male, this Reaver can. It is the one thing that had kept the hound from ripping the tall man's throat out just a moment ago.

"Something is wrong with me Reaver, something I have yet to understand." The Queen rings her hands, somewhat alarmed to actually find herself anxious to continue with this discussion. Reaver's expression remains unchanged, his sly eyes still undressing the nervous woman pacing before him. She turns to find him smirking fiendishly, her temper flaring to it's limit.

"Forget it! I do not know why I even **attempted **to bring this issue to your attention." The Queen moves to the large double doors, wrenching it open with almost enough force to tear it from it's hinges, "It was foolish of me, and it will most certainly **not** happen again."

Reaver makes no attempt to move, even with the Queen's heated glare zeroing in on him. He merely continues to smirk wickedly at the Queen, once again patting at the seat adjacent himself invitingly.

After a moments hesitation, the Queen submits, dejectedly walking towards the sofa and falling upon it helplessly. Reaver, ever the gentleman, slips a comforting arm around the Queen's shoulders, tugging her in close, his brazen eyes falling right upon the two most favored, perky, assets of her Highness.

"I'm going to shoot you." The Queen sighs, her head falling effortlessly into the crook of his neck. Reaver grins as his gloved fingers run seductively over the exposed flesh of her forearm, fully anticipating to use every single one of his charms to salvage some sort of sexual gratification from the Queen this day. She is quite the feline between the sheets, and he finds himself simply not satisfied with just one encounter. Oh the things he can do with that goddess, sober none the less! Not that any spirits have ever diminished his skills before, but still.

The Queen moves slightly against him, Reaver almost having forgotten her presence, losing himself in memories once again.

"So what is it that has you most distressed, my dear? This cannot simply be about that unfortunate incident with the desert dweller? What is she to you? If there is some sordid tale of the two of you that I have yet to be aware of, I must insist on you informing me of every, scandalous detail." The Queen rolls her eyes, pushing herself away from Reaver and forcing herself to glance in the direction of the very object that vexes her so. It haunts her thoughts almost every second of every day, her very life force seemingly draining from her soul whenever she finds herself even remotely near it.

"The cane."

Reaver's eyes follow the Queen's line of sight, falling upon his cane and top hat nesting neatly atop the chair across from them.

"The cane?" The Queen shudders beneath his arm, unable to break her gaze from that of the gleaming metal almost staring back at her. Reaver ponders this for a moment, his dark eyebrow quirking upwards as certain puzzle pieces begin to fall into place.

"Well, my dear, it seems you've landed yourself in a bit of a quandary. How fiendishly clever of you do deduce the cause." Reaver chuckles at the Queen, his index finger tweaking at her nose as she stares quizzically back at him. He raises himself from the couch, his hands wasting no time in readjusting his appearance to that of ultimate perfection.

"Have you ever noticed something incongruous about this particular article of mine?" Reaver runs a hand through his once again flawless hair, a suspicious glint hidden beneath his stare that causes the Queen only increasing anxiety. She says nothing, only watches as that accursed object is plucked from the chair, twirling effortlessly between the gloved fingers of Reaver's confident hands.

"It was a gift you see, from some old friends of mine. Quite the tedious group they are, pray that you never are never granted the misfortune of their company." Reaver's expression shifts to complete vacancy, his eyes and thoughts clearly lost somewhere in the past. The Queen is momentarily reminded of the strange scene she witnessed back in her bedroom all those weeks ago. His sudden blank, unreadable glare. Darting from the room as though some hideous creature chased him from it. It was that very same day that she had first come across the cane after all, the first time she had touched it with bare fingers.

A thought clicks in the Queen's worrisome mind, frightful eyes watching Reaver with a renewed glare.

"Reaver, why is it you are always wearing gloves when handling that…_thing_."

"Ah ta ta! Patience my dear, wouldn't want to spoil the tale now." Reaver moves to sit once again with the Queen, the effects of being near the cane almost immediately noticeable. Her entire body goes limp, neck unable to support the weight of her head, allowing it to fall tiredly against his shoulder. He grins wickedly, petting her head lovingly while tapping the cane lightly against her thigh.

"Now, where was I? Oh yes! Well, as you may have noticed, I have been both blessed and cursed with the luxury of eternal beauty and youth. The means as to how I have achieved this, well, that I'm afraid will have to remain a secret. I would so hate to have to place a bullet into that comely temple of yours." Reaver taps at the Queen's forehead, fully manipulating her lax state by leaning forward to place multiple soft kisses just beneath her eye.

"Needless to say, these comrades of mine are the source of this marvelous amenity, and thus fore, require certain sacrifices to be made every few years or so. Oh, don't appear so predictably shocked _ma cherie_, it is a rather ill look for you." The Queen flinches as Reaver raises the cane towards her face, rapping her against the cheek gently. The waves of pleasure and peace that once washed over her from it's mere touch, are now replaced with a sinister dread, her fists clenching as she inhales a sharp intake of breath. Desperately, she clutches at Reaver's shirt. Unable to form words, the Queen can only look desperately up into the twinkling green eyes that only twinkle in amusement, unmoved by her silent pleas for an end to her suffering.

Damn Reaver. Damn this man to whatever Hell surely awaits him at the end of his unnatural long life.

"I bet you find yourself wondering, just where does this whole wonderful story tie into your situation. You see, after many years and years, gathering willing subjects for this task had become quite tiring. For both myself and those parties involved. I dear say, there is nothing quite like the fight for one's life when a few hooded couriers are threatening to take one's beauty and youth. So, for the benefit of all, I was bestowed with this!" Reaver once again taps the cane against the Queen, this time running it down the length of her exposed arm to rest achingly against her lap. He rests his head atop her own, his lips brushing against her ear seductively as he whispers within it.

"Along with it, I was given very **specific** instruction to allow no one, save it's intended victim, to touch with uncovered flesh. Which you, my unfortunate doe, have done so already, on numerous occasions one can only assume." Reaver groans with a faked sense of pity, nuzzling his head against the now violently shaking woman beneath him.

"How," The Queen gasps, struggling to remove herself from the man she now so intensely despised, "How…do I stop this." With minimal effort, the Queen manages to knock the resting cane from her lap, an intense rush of relief rushing over her as it clangs against the floor. She can only scoot back as best she can from Reaver, only to have him push back against her. He manages to get the Queen flat on her back, his long arms supporting a majority of his weight as he lies atop her. Had the cane not sapped her of all energy, she surely would have kneed him right where it hurts as he begins nipping at the base of her neckline, his devilish tongue licking ravishingly at her pale skin.

"That is not an easy feat, my dear. Are you sure you wish me to disclose that information? Perhaps instead we can just lie here. I am most willing to _reward _you for your, albeit, unknowing sacrifice." Reaver bucks his hips against the Queen, finding himself growing disinterested by her continuing stillness. He sighs, realizing that taking advantage of his Queen in this state would not be as fulfilling as he had previously thought. Not after tasting the sweet nectar of her most spirited sexual appetite.

This just wouldn't do.

Reaver does not remove himself from the Queen, instead leaning in closer, his eyes holding an alarming severity that she never before witnessed in his gaze. Nor that of any other.

"To live, you must make a deal with death itself."


	7. Chapter 7

_Disclaimer: Fable 3, Reaver and all other character and game plotlines belong to Lionhead._

_My Queen is my own, and so is this story._

_A/N: Ah, finally an update. I apologize for not being able to get this out sooner to you guys, but I always try to make sure I am giving out only the best of my abilities as a writer, and to do both this story and you guys justice. I really hope you enjoy, especially now since we're getting into the main plotline of the story. _

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_I'll be gone for a time_

_Tuning out for awhile_

_It's gonna look like I'm not all there_

_I've decided that today_

_Seems alright to piss away_

_Ignore my empty stare_

_Living in a Dream ~ Finger Eleven_

Winter in Albion was like something from a dream. Pristine, white flurries blanketing the land in an enigmatic scene of wonderment. Trees, left bare and naked, frozen branches reaching out like fingers to the sky.

All this the Queen could see as she casts a watchful look across her city, eyes lingering on that of her own home, bathed in reflective light. It had never looked so beautiful.

And yet here she was, leaving it all behind.

Wind beaten sails whip wildly above her as she leans casually against the wooden railing, calloused fingers playing mindlessly with the loose strands of hair that had long ago escaped their pinned up prison.

It had been three weeks since Reaver's revelation of the Queen's fate. Three weeks since she had discovered that her very youth and beauty was being sucked from her like a sweet peach. All because she had not worn "protection" when handling Reaver's "mighty stick". His words, of course.

Reaver would only state that the cure to her most peculiar ailment lie somewhere near the outskirts of the horrid, pirate infested town known as Bloodstone. Any other inquiries to the subject only gained the Queen cheshire grins and uncouth winks. In the end, she had deduced that it just wasn't worth the headaches to attempt to draw out the answers, but instead voyage to the land herself, Reaver all but insisting on escorting the soverign on his own ship, _The Industrialist_.

Despite both Walter and Jasper's insistence, she had decided against traveling with her usual guard. The royal navy would only bring about more suspicions, the Queen not wanting to worry her people over her absence in such troubling times.

"Bit chilly out here, don't ya think miss? Why don't you come down below deck with 'ol Barry here, I'll be sure to show ya a good time." The Queen rolls her eyes, far too familiar with the cat calls and hungry glares that accompanied traveling with the scum that was Reaver's crew. His ship alone was nothing more than a floating pub, both drunkards and a plentyful supply of whores of either gender near at hand.

She turns to greet her intruder, eyes widening in shock as she recognizes the man's beaten face. Standing before her, slightly worse for ware, is Barry Hatch. Deep scars run down the length of his face and neck, his left eye, or lack there of, concealed with a cheaply made eye patch. Regardless, the Queen was sure she was now starting at the deceased servant that had once tricked both her and Page into Reaver's demented excuse for a trap.

"B-Barry?" The Queen peers closer at the small man, "You look quite good for a corpse."

"Ah! It's the rebel princess!" Barry exclaims, his speech impediment still as apparent as in their first meeting, "Not dead yet sweetness. Though, didn't walk away from that scuffle without some _minor _damage. Let's just say, I might not be as friendly under the full moon." Upon closer inspection, the Queen can see the faintest details of Barry's enhanced wolfish features. The slight upturn of his shredded nose, sharp teeth flashing beneath his wicked grin.

"So…you mean to say that you are-"

"Yep! Barry the Balverine, at your service." Barry bows low, talon like nails scratching at the Queen's hand as he grips and places unchaste kisses upon it. If it weren't for the mere incredibility of the situation, the Queen would have tossed Barry clear over the ship's railing and into the unforgiving seas without a moments hesitation. She was all too familiar with the instincts of these beasts, the occurrence with the White Balverine leader in Silverpine Forests still fresh in her thoughts. Still, disagreeable as the man was, the Queen could not help but feel some sort of pity for his soul. Doomed to work under the harsh glare of Reaver for all eternity was a fate not suitable for even the harshest of criminals.

"Barry! You flee-ridden excuse for a man. Quit drooling upon my guest and finish tiding up her room! It would simply not do to have such ravenous beauty diddle about in the depths of mongrels such as yourself." The familiar drawl of Reaver's voice rings out across the entire deck, both the Queen and Barry's view shifting up to see the amoral man towering above them. Instead of his usual white and brown suit, Reaver wore a blood red ensemble akin to those worn by Highwaymen. His Dragonstomper, as always, is strapped to one hip, a blade of his own company's creation adorning the other. The Casanova, as it was so aptly named. The Queen herself had owned such a blade, relieved in the knowledge that she had opted for her own trusted Hero's Sword for this voyage. She would had **never **heard the end of that little exchange.

"Yes Master Reaver!" Reluctantly, Barry releases the Queen from his grip, her noting the gluttonous licking of the lips as he backs begrudgingly away from her. As harmless as he had seemed during their first encounter, Barry was definitely one to watch on this excursion. In matters of both life, limb and most importantly, _mating_.

"My apologies, your Majesty. While the lad is quite the beast between the sheets, his manners do so grow tiresome. It seems his new affliction has only escalated those bloody annoyances." Reaver descends the steps with the agility of a hunter stalking it's prey, his gaze only complimenting those appearances.

The Queen's feelings towards the man had shifted drastically in these pasts months. From annoyance, to tolerance, peaking ultimately at attraction, then once again descending deep into an irked hatred. It was **his **fault she was in this mess. Him and that bloody cane. And now she was stuck on a ship with the pest. She could only imagine the depths of severe animosity that would surely bloom towards him, confined in an enclosed space for an entire week.

Reaver clicks his tongue at the Queen, somewhat irritated at the growing lack of responses towards his obvious attempts at goading her. He did so love their little squabbles now and again.

"Might I say, you look marvelous. Why, if I didn't know better, I'd think you were just another blighted bandit," Reaver quirks an eyebrow, relishing in the sight of the Queen's high cut shorts, "With amazing legs and a buttocks to match. You have an excellent eye for fashion, my dear."

The Queen simply places a hand upon her hip, balancing her weight to one side. A movement formed of habit he had so cleverly deduced.

"Ah, the silent treatment, I see." Reaver approaches the monarch, running a hand roguishly across her bare shoulders, "Quite cruel of you to treat the man saving your very existence as such." The Queen recoils from his touch, turning to face him, fury burning beneath her heavily painted eyes.

"Saving me? It is **your **fault-"

"Ha! See? I knew you couldn't resist my charms. A fruitless effort, really." Reaver waves his hand about carelessly as he turns from the Queen, her own clenching tightly into fists. He was manipulating her, she knew this. He was so damn good at it, and she couldn't help but fail miserably at evading his traps.

The Queen breaths deeply, inhaling the musky scent of sea-water and stained wood. Something was strangely calming about the scent, rousing about memories from a life that was not of her own. Either way, the Queen had momentarily let herself relax, once again turning to the landscape shrinking away in the distance.

Bowerstone looked like nothing more than a scene in a snow globe now, a perfect winter's paradise. Icy winds pierce at the exposed skin her blouse allowed, a fierce shiver once again reminding the Queen of her horribly misjudged choice in apparel. The striped tights would keep her legs warm for now, until they docked and she would be forced to trudge in knee deep snow that is. Surely, there would be some stores in Bloodstone to purchase appropriate clothing from. Until then, she could just remain locked away in the room supplied to her, avoiding both the cold and any unwanted stares from the motley crew.

"Are you cold my sweet? Perhaps we should adjourn to the captain's quarters. I assure you, you will find both the lodgings and it's fetching host most welcoming." Reaver's hands slip onto the Queen's shoulders, gripping her tightly as he draws her body back into him. Despite herself, she finds the sudden warmth pressed against her irresistibly relaxing, the temptation to remain in the arms of the enemy almost overwhelming.

Almost.

The Queen skillfully twists out from beneath his grasp, fingers brushing just barely against the elaborate grip of the .48 Dragonstomper nestled snugly in it's holster. Reaver, caught in a moment of paranoia over his most prized possession, wastes not a moment to rip the pistol from his hip, aiming it squarely against the female Hero's temple and cocking back the hammer.

"I will say this once, and I sincerely advise you to listen carefully, for I do so abhor being repetitive." The cold metal of the barrel is not nearly as frightening, nor icy, as the intense stare the Queen currently suffered under.

"You do not **touch** that which does not belong to you." Reaver smirks, lifting the pistol slightly from the Queen's head, "I do believe that is something your dear sweet mother would have taught you, no? She always was the virtuous sort. Well, maybe not **always**. There was that time that we-"

The Queen reaches her limit, slapping the gun swiftly away from her head, while at the same moment unsheathing her sword and pressing the tip to Reaver's neck.

"You will speak nothing more of my mother." A slight amount of blood drips onto the shining silver of the sword, Reaver's expression still retaining every bit of smugness it had held previous. Apparently, the threat of death at the Queen's own hand was not something of concern for the ex-pirate and smuggler.

"How very intriguing. It seems I have hit upon something of a sore spot, haven't I?" For an extended few seconds, Reaver's strangely serene gaze seems to entrap the young woman's concentration, shielding from view his stealthy hands and feet moving into a well trained position. The Queen never even has a moment to react before she finds herself staring up at the overcastted sky, the back of her head already throbbing in pain from sudden impact with the wooden floor. She refuses to move, to grunt or make any other noise of pain or discomfort. That was one thing she would never allow him to take delight in.

"Ah crud. If this leaves a mark I shall be most upset with you." Infuriating as always, Reaver's head soon floats into view, a rare scowl wrinkling his youthful features. He takes a moment to admire the legendary sword left by the previous Hero Queen now in his possession, the current Queen still unmoving on the deck beneath him.

This man, could not simply be just a man. His inhuman reflexes, from repelling a bullet with the simplest of ease, to his unequaled aim and precision with a pistol. A dark secret was hidden deep beneath the emerald green eyes that now stared amusingly down at the Queen, taunting her, _daring _her.

"What **are** you?" The Queen ponders out loud, propping herself up by the elbows. Reaver simply smirks in response, twirling her living sword skillfully in his hands before offering it down to her by the hilt. It just simply would not be Reaver without some shameless act of showing off.

"I am quite the enigma, that you can be sure of," Reaver replies, winking down at the irritated monarch, "I wonder, did your late mother ever speak of her ultimate triumph over evil? The tale of the four Heros is certainly one to be spun."

The Queen scoffs at the remark. How could she not have heard the story of her own mother's greatest adventure? Why, Walter would surely beat her over the head with a stick had she ever gained the audacity to have forgotten it.

"Don't be ridiculous Reaver, of course I've been told of her quests against Lucien and the Spire. What could that possibly-"

Reaver smirks knowingly at the sudden look of realization spreading across the Queen's face, his fingers dancing lovingly against the very weapon that had tied him to the fable almost sixty years ago.

The shocking strength, the manipulation of will and time, and of course, the skill with a gun. How could she have not seen it before? Slowly, the Queen recovers, re-positioning herself to stand face to face with Reaver once more. Give or take a few inches, of course.

"You mean…you are…"

"Oh how quant. Did you truly believe the last of the Heros died out with your poor, sweet mother?" Reaver once again moves into a stalking position, encircling the Queen like a hungry lion, "Quite a foolish assumption."

If the Queen had been able to focus on Reaver's words, she probably would've found herself once again being sucked into another pointless argument with the insufferable man. Luckily, for both her sanity and pride, not a word of his had reached her ears. The only thing occupying the Queen's thoughts was the ever diminishing land in the distance, **her **land. It was nothing more than a speck on the horizon now, all chances of turning back to the ignorant bliss of her life before disappearing along with it. While not an easy existence, it was indeed a purposeful one. She was the last of the Heros! The only one who could save the land from impending doom and darkness.

And yet, it had all been a mislead lie. What other secrets had her mother hidden from her? How much more debauchery would she soon uncover in this quest?

This, in all certainty, was going to be a long and rocky journey.


	8. Chapter 8

_Disclaimer: Fable 3, Reaver and all other character and game plotlines belong to Lionhead._

_My Queen is my own, and so is this story._

_A/N: Alright guys, I just want to put it out there that I do NOT write lemons. I just can't seem to get it down where it doesn't come off as just…stinky. That being said, this chapter does get a teeny bit steamy, and I'd really like to hear if I pulled it off in a tasteful manner. So review review review!_

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_And who do you think you are?_

_Runnin round leaving scars_

_Collecting your jar of hearts_

_And tearing love apart_

_You're gonna catch a cold_

_From the ice inside your soul_

_So don't come back for me_

_Don't' come back at all_

_Jar of Hearts ~ Christina Perri_

Say what you will about the man, there was no denying that Reaver had **style**.

After living more than half of her existence in a castle, the Queen was no stranger to luxury. Even so, she couldn't help but find herself completely in awe as the nameless servant had lead her to what would be her quarters for the next week.

Silk draperies swept throughout the room in a clash of reds and gold, a chamber spacious enough for a family of twelve, surely. The king sized bed, also far too grand for just one individual, was adorned with the double golden Rs made famous by the ship's captain, the sheets and coverlets shaded in a passionate deep red. All appearances resembled that of Reaver's old abode back in Millfields, his tastes obviously not too vast, but certainly agreeable.

"Master R-Reaver wished me to pass along his…_invitation _to join him in his quarters, if you happen to find this one at all unsatisfactory." The Queen's attention is momentarily drawn away from the grand splendor that was her room, caramel colored eyes falling on the slightly shivering maid still standing beneath the doors arch.

She was a pretty young thing, long blonde hair sweeping down past her bum, clothed in a matter that was far too revealing for someone of her age. Hardly surprising though, for someone employed in the services of such a lecher.

"Oh? How very _kind _of the pest." The Queen can't help but sneer, arms crossed over her chest as she taps her biceps in an irritated fashion, "Regardless, I will have to decline. This room will more than suffice."

"I…see. Very well Your Majesty." The young girls sighs heavily, her face expressing the utmost displeasure. She begins to bow, signaling her leave, but the Queen reaches out before she can turn away, gripping the girl's arm lightly.

"Indulge me if you will, for I find myself most curious. Just what did our hospitable little leech have planned for you if I had rejected his offer?" Fear stains just about every feature of the servants cherubic face, eyes as blue as the sky darting across every corner of the room as if the Jack of Blades himself hid beneath the shadows.

"H-He…He said if you wouldn't join him tonight then…then I am to take your place in his bed. Really, I should be honored, I mean, h-half the women in Albion would trade places with me in a heartbeat. It's just…it's my first time." The young girl begins to ramble, her eyes unable to raise and meet the glare of the woman not possibly more than ten years her senior. Unintentionally, the Queen tightens her grip on the poor child's arm, a slight yelp escaping her lips as she continues to cower beneath the statuesque monarch.

"Oh! I am so sorry!" The Queen relinquishes the girl from her grip without hesitation, the poor thing clearly on the brink of bursting into tears. Whether from instinct, or perhaps all too knowing of Reaver's antics, the Queen could plainly see this young woman had not entered into the service of the devious Hero willingly.

The Queen shivers, still unaccustomed to be thinking of Reaver as a **Hero**, of all things…

"Listen," Gingerly, the kind sovereign brushes away the stray hair from the girl's face, "Stay, enjoy yourself. There are far too many luxuries here for an adventurer like myself, and I am sure you have worked yourself way past of the point of deserving such spoils." The young servant, unused to such charity, finds herself overcome with joy, throwing her arms around the Queen's neck and embracing her tightly.

"Thank you my Queen! Thank you **so **much!" The Queen chuckles, patting the girl's back comfortingly. In sudden realization of her brash actions, the servant soon shrinks back from the Hero, once again returning to her shy and terror filled demeanor.

"Oh but…what about Master Reaver? I will surely face the s-switch if I-"

The Queen raises her gloved hand, effectively halting the girl mid speech. The faint mist of cold and ice could be seen swirling from her fingertips, eyes flashing a dangerous blue as she glares through the open doorway from atop the servants head.

"I will deal with Reaver."

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Winds tear dangerously at the pristinely white sails, the weather traumatized sea beating the hull about mercilessly. A storm was brewing on this chaotic night.

Reaver grins devilishly behind the enormous wooden steering wheel, arrogantly navigating throughout the tumultuous waters with only the tips of his fingertips. He adored the thrill of traversing through these squalls. Ones that, in the hands of any such lesser man, would send ships sinking into the murky depths in itty bitty pieces.

"Barry! Notify the crew, we shall be sailing deep into the night. Absolutely no rests, no breaks nor any other nonsense of the sort. Do you understand? Ah yes, there's a good boy." Reaver reaches over to pat the top of the ginger headed man-servant standing next to him, finding the utmost amusement in discovering yet another way to further demean the beast.

Watching Barry scurry off, Reaver sighs, bemused. Where had his lovely little toy gotten off to? Things were becoming quite dull on deck without the constant glaring and whatnot from the Queen. She did tend to keep things ever so interesting…

A chill not pertaining to the current weather rushes over Reaver, clear icicles forming across each peg of the wooden wheel. He chuckles lightly, eyes raising to spot the very pissed off looking brunette staring up at him from the lower deck.

"My my my! Such an _icy _demeanor. One might think you are becoming rather indifferent of me." Reaver struggles to keep his teeth from chattering as he spews his witty retort, hand still gripping the wheel, hiding the fact that it very well might have been stuck frozen to the damned thing.

Another strong gust of biting frost hits Reaver like a stone, his resolve much too strong to relay any sort of weakness throughout his sharp features.

"It's a funny thing Reaver. Not a month ago, if anyone had ever inquired into our **one **night of passion, I would have replied in the knowledge of retaining absolutely no regrets to the matter." Slowly, the Queen begins to ascend the stairs leading up to the frozen Reaver, frost beginning to form all across his raven hair. Her movements are precise, every ounce of strength left in her focused on keeping his boots frozen to the floor.

Thunder roars across the darkened sky, any soul fool enough to have remained on deck now scampering beneath cover, eyes still watching their captain's face off with unyielding interest.

"As-ss," Reaver clears his throat, lengthening his torso into a more confident stance despite his faltering voice, "As I can recall, you were p-practically singing my praises, _ma ch-cherie_." Reaver raises his one free hand, a small crack echoing in response to the ice snapping near his elbow. By now, the Queen had stood only a few inches from her target, her glowing blue eyes flashing rhythmically along with the Will lines snaking throughout her entire form.

She smiles, raising a single hand up to Reaver's cheek and stroking it gently, completely unaffected by the swirling ice storm now engulfing them.

"And I would be lying to say I didn't…_enjoy_ myself. However," Without warning, the Queen lets loose the hand resting on his cheek, slapping him hard enough to crack whatever ice had formed there, "There is not another moment in my life now that I could possibly look back with a more panged view, than that night shared in your damned bed. You **disgust **me."

Unable to sustain the use of Will, the ice storm fades from the couple, the Queen collapsing to the ground in a heap of glowing limbs. It only takes a moment for Reaver to recover however, not wasting a moment to straighten his cloak and other such necessities. He glances down at the Queen, smirking as always.

Lightening strikes somewhere across the horizon, a smug Reaver kneeling down to scoop up the unconscious woman and tossing her effortlessly over his shoulder.

"Just **what** are you lot staring at? Back to work, all of you, chop chop!" Reaver watches as the huddled masses rush into action, grinning devilishly as he makes his way down the steps to his own quarters, patting his new prize aggressively on the behind in triumph.

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Someone, or something, was watching the Queen.

The familiar sensation of overwhelming, unknown dread was the first indication of this. She had experienced this far too many times for her own liking and sanity during the many months of building her revolution. Hobbes, Hollow men, Bandits, Balverines…

_Shit_

The Queen's eyes snap open in an instant, fully expecting to see Barry completely transformed before her in Balverine form, his teeth only seconds away from tearing her face off. Instead, she is greeted by continuous darkness, just now noticing the slightly damp pressure resting against her eyes and forehead.

With strained effort, the Queen reaches up to remove said pressure from her head, muscles screaming in protests at any attempts of further movement.

A grand ceiling, much like the one of her borrowed quarters, meets her gaze, eyes roaming down to fully examine her new surroundings. The moments that had led her to this place still seemed a bit fuzzy, only partly aware that she was indeed in a bed, and the rocking motions of the room were a result of the ship she currently traveled by.

Then, like a candle sparking in her mind, her sights fall on the cause of her current state, all recollections of the events prior rushing into her conscious thoughts.

Reaver, bare from the waist up, stands just a few feet from her, his back turned to her as he faces the roaring fireplace. He doesn't move, seemingly unaware of her presence entirely.

"Enjoying the view?" Reaver pauses, taking a long sip from a silver goblet as he continuously stares intently into the flames, "I **am** quite marvelous."

The Queen, too annoyed to respond, merely scoffs in disagreement, her eyes rolling back up to stare pointlessly at the ceiling. Her hand, still gripping the wet cloth that had been placed upon her eyes, manages to muster enough strength the whip the item crudely at Reaver's back, his amused chuckles only infuriating the Queen even further. She moves to sit up, only to be sent shrinking back beneath the coverlets.

"Reaver! I'm naked!"

Reaver laughs wickedly, finally turning his torso slightly to glance back at the horrified Queen.

"Ah yes, well, your clothes were quite soaked from the dreadful weather brewing outside. Very regrettable." He begins to saunter towards the Queen, eyes fiendishly roaming down the length of her form beneath the sheets, " It would be most rude of me to allow yourself to fall ill while under my care! Oh, do not fret my sweet, I only peeked just a little." Without warning, Reaver pounces upon the Queen, his legs straddling her waist and effectively pinning the weakened force beneath him.

"Now, my tricky little minx, if you will indulge me. Just **what **could you have possibly discovered about myself that _disgusts_ you so? You must forgive me, for I have lived such a long time, my many conquests and escapades sometimes escape even my own memory." Reaver's hands slip beneath the sheets, dancing lustfully up the sides of the Queen's torso as she struggles against him. Despite herself, the Queen finds her body reacting to the electricity of his touch, her legs supporting her weight as her body rolls languidly against him.

"That _girl_ Reaver," The Queen snarls from beneath clenched teeth, suppressing a moan as the tips of Reaver's thumbs trace teasingly at the base of her breasts.

"Mmm, I know of many girls I'm afraid, quite intimately. You will have to be more specific." Reaver leans down to nuzzle the nape of the Queens neck, smirking in delight as she gasps in response to his fingers now playing skillfully against her nipples. She squirms against him, eliciting an uncouth moan from Reaver as he roughly grinds his hips into hers.

This was moving fast into a direction the Queen did not wish to go. Using whatever strength she could incite, the Queen manages to roll out from beneath Reaver, an muffled groan escaping his lips as he falls face first into a pillow.

"That servant girl! The child! She could not possibly be a day over thirteen! And still you intended to bed her? Have you no shame?" The Queen clutches the sheets tightly to her chest as she sits up, glaring daggers down into the back of Reaver's head.

Using his arms Reaver manages to push himself up from the bed, rolling onto his side and grinning irritatingly as he still glares hungrily at the Queen.

"Ah, the lovely Lily. She is quite the chaste looking thing, isn't she?" Reaver shuts his eyes as he thinks back to the young little treat he had received in payment during a most recent transgression. Her father, the thieving sod, had been caught attempting to steal a crate of Reaver's very own supplies. In exchange for sparing his life, the man had offered up his own daughter to serve to Reaver's every whim and fancy. He had of course accepted the offer, having afterwards still discarded of the lying bastard. Really, Reaver had been doing the world a favor.

"You are sick!" The Queen's shrieks draw Reaver from his happy thoughts, his emerald eyes flashing dangerously in anger to her endless accusations. Leader or not, she was still just a woman, one who continually insisted on testing Reaver's patience to it's ultimate limit, and then some. Something that had began as somewhat charming, enticing even, was now turning into an increased annoyance.

No one, not even the mighty Hero Queen of Albion, was above Reaver.

Once again, the Queen finds herself entrapped beneath Reaver's crushing grasp, his gaze portraying none of the lust driven play-fullness held prior. The sheets had managed to fall from the Queen's body, exposing her bare down to her upper thigh. The fact that he had yet to make some tasteless remark upon it was more than troubling.

"You lend yourself **far** too much credit, your highness." Snatching both the Queen's wrists, Reaver pins them above her head, "The girl was simply a means to an end. I had never harbored a single want nor desire to bring harm to the child. It was **you **who I intended to bed this night, and why, look! It seems my plan worked just swimmingly." Reaver forces his lips upon her in an instant, undeterred even as she bites back at him. Once satisfied, he draws away, grinning still, despite the blood trickling down from his lower lip.

The Queen, her own lips covered in Reaver's blood, glares up beneath heavily lidded eyes. This scuffle, along with the one up on deck, was draining what little energy the cursed cane had yet to take from her. She couldn't best Reaver in this state. Hell, she couldn't even raise her arm!

"You played me." She gasps, fighting against the sleep that threatens to seep into her. Reaver wipes the blood from his chin with the back of his hand, lowering himself down off of the Queen and lying next to her. His arms wrap possessively around her waist, tugging her in close as his fingertips rub small circles into her skin.

"Like a skilled bard tuning a lute, my dear."


	9. Chapter 9

_Disclaimer: Fable 3, Reaver and all other character and game plotlines belong to Lionhead._

_My Queen is my own, and so is this story._

_A/N: I hope you all had a wonderful holiday! Here is my late present to you all, inspired after spying many naughty pictures of Reaver and our favorite Princess on the most wonderful DeviantArt (It's all Kousagi's fault :P) I only wish I could draw even a smidgen to add to the fray, but alas, I am skilled only in the art of stick figures. No one wants to see that…believe me._

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_Head down_

_Swayin to my own sound_

_Flashes in my face now_

_All I know is everybody love me_

_Everybody loves me_

_Everybody loves me ~ OneRepublic_

Waking up late was never a granted luxury for the Queen. If not from the persistence of Jasper's scolding by the foot of her bed, or the irking humming of Hobson as he all too patiently waited for her to stir, she had always found that sleeping in to a desired, late hour was just not in the cards.

So, to find herself groggily rising into a state of awareness of her own accord, the Queen could barely contain the moans and groans of pleasurable comfort now seeping from her lips. Her back arches in a catlike stance as she stretches dreamily, eyes still shut, enjoying whatever agreeable traces of the sound night's sleep still remained.

A warm presence brushes against the back of the Queen's hand as she gropes at the sheets greedily. Smirking, she reaches closer to grasp at her usual sleeping companion, fully anticipating to feel the coarse fur of her equally sluggish hound sleeping soundly beside her.

"Mmm…and a good morning to you as well my dear. Shall I take those explorative little fingers as an invitation?"

The Queen lets out an uncharacteristic screech as her brain registers the touch of bare flesh, her eyes snapping open to meet the blurry image of Reaver now grinning devilishly down at her.

"Not so loud," Reaver winces, not hesitating to place a heavy hand firmly over the Queen's gaping mouth, "It seems I had indulged in bit too much to drink last night. That little episode of yours had me feeling a bit under the weather, pun most certainly intended. Nothing like some liquid fire to put some warmth back in the veins!"

Honey eyes glare daringly up at Reaver, the Queen fully resisting the urge to bite at his fingers. The perverted scoundrel would probably find something alluring about it, after all. The man could make something as innocent as baking cookies into a sexual innuendo.

Testing the limits of her strength, the Queen reaches up and pries the hand restricting her speech, twisting it at the wrist and employing her dominance over Reaver. He willingly obliges, rolling onto his back swiftly and allowing the woman's toned body to collapse unceremoniously on top of him.

"You are quite the frisky feline this day! I find myself most pleasantly surprised." Reaver winks up at the Queen, finding himself further taken aback to see a small smile crack ever so slightly at the corner of her kiss-abused lips. It takes only a moment for her stoic nature to recompose however, forcing her hands up against his chest and pushing herself from him.

Despite her nudity, the Queen moves unabashed from the cover that the blankets provide, allowing Reaver a full view as she once again stretches lazily atop him, her thighs constricting lightly against the sides of his waist pleasantly.

Reaver unleashes an animalistic grunt in the back of his throat, allowing his emerald eyes to rake in the ravishing curves of the Queen's supple breasts, the sculpted wave of skin formed from waist to hips. Fingertips soon eagerly follow the path traced in his sight, only to be effortlessly swatted away by the aloof Queen still straddling him ever so tauntingly.

"Ooh, you **are** such the tease today, aren't you my saucy little minx? I must warn you though, I have very little patience in matters such as these, my pet." Again, Reaver attempts to caress the tempting mistress poised perfectly before him, fair skin all too tantalizing to remain uncovered in feverish kisses and playful love-bites.

"Reaver." Her glassy glare fiercely focused on that of something unseen in the distance, the Queen easily catches Reaver's hands just mere inches from grazing her stomach, fingers digging lightly into his forever more gunpowder stained skin.

Reaver quirks an eyebrow at his peculiarly mannered Queen. He could only all too easily overpower the woman at this moment. She was obviously distracted, not a common occurrence for the usually guarded Hero. Why, with the simplest jerk of the hips he could quickly pin her beneath him, and force this encounter into a much more _agreeable _direction. Of course, in doing so he could very well cause the exact response in her refusal, and Reaver was **not **one to force himself on that of the unwilling. It was simply just insulting to even think as such!

"Just exactly how…_well_ did you know my mother?" The Queen's question pulls an uncouth grin onto Reaver's slightly parted lips, his mind's eye still somewhat preoccupied with visions of the heaving bosom dancing above him in a much more animated fashion. So much so, that Reaver does not notice the utter look of disgust and horror crossing over every feature of the Queen's soft face.

"Oh my…Reaver!" With the speed of a frightened balverine, the Queen leaps from atop Reaver, drawing him rudely from his pleasant daydreaming and wrenching the coverlets swiftly from the bed along with her. Reaver, laid bare and uncaring in all his nakedness, merely continues smirking fiendishly, his dark eyebrow still raised in what was now a growing amusement.

"What is the ever the matter my sweet? Come, lie back down in bed. It is so dreadfully drafty without the warmth of another's delicious delectable _derrière_ alongside my own."

"You…you…deviant! You bed my own **mother** and then expect me to obligingly follow suit? I know those smirks only all too well Reaver, do not try to deny it!" The Queen clutches the many elaborate blankets tightly to shield her naked shame, struggling against the sheer weight of it all and the deteriorating strength still waning further each passing moment of this damned voyage.

The question had been festering in her thoughts like a gnarled weed, growing longer and stronger with each cryptic remark that had spewed from Reaver's tainted lips. The mighty Hero Queen of Albion had been a good woman, this was true. But so had been her daughter, the current woman to take place upon the throne, up until the moment Reaver had hacked away at her every defense and spread his stain right down to her very soul. Had her mother also suffered under the temptation of lying with the oh so famous Reaver? Had she also fell victim to his serpentine words of flattery and promises of ecstasy driven pleasure?

The well worn picture sitting atop Reaver's mantel had spoken volumes to the Queen, confirming every suspicion and utterly crushing her spirits.

Reaver could be heard chuckling lightly from the bed through her ringing ears,.

"Do you find this humorous? You sick bastard…I didn't believe there was any _possible _way to further demean my views of you and your minute traces of morality. Truly, I did not imagine any human being could possibly sink this low, but you-"

"Oh stop darling, you are making me blush."

An extended silence passes between the pair. The Queen, both too stunned and horrified to respond, can only stare back at Reaver's dynamic glare, clearly testing every ounce of patience left within her. He was like a child with a stick, poking and poking and poking until just the right moment…

_Snap_

The twig breaks, and the Queen pounces, dropping the crimson blankets carelessly to the floor.

Reaver, forever in his element of efficiency with skill, catches the attacking woman with ease, snatching her carefully by the hips and drawing her roughly against him. In all this excitement, he had found himself becoming most aroused, a fact he would make the Queen well aware of as he lets his hardening length graze tauntingly across her bum.

"Let me go!"

Reaver clicks his tongue in feigned thought

"No, I don't think I will. It is evidentially clear that you will not listen to reason while still in such a fiery temperament. I promise you, I have just the cure for this very aliment. A poke, a prod, a few hours of tireless thrusting, and you will be right as rain, love." Reaver lets a hand drift from the Queen's hip to grasp at the fingers now clawing determinedly at his chest.

"And before you begin your protests, know this. I did **not **make tender love to your dear sweet mother." The Queen halts her furious attacks at once, her quizzical gaze followed in suit by a innocent tilt of the head. Reaver was not one to deny his many conquests, especially that of bedding royalty. He would surely have no shame in admitting to the despicable act, even to the woman's own blood daughter for whom he also had conquered in the matters of carnal desires.

"Not for lack of trying, of course." The Queen scowls, slapping Reaver's chest harshly while he merely laughs heartedly in response.

"Then, pray tell, for whatever reason, some more troubling to think than others, would you persist in keeping that picture of her seated on your mantel there? I sincerely doubt you will be offended to hear that you do not strike me as merely the sentimental type." The Queen shifts ever so slightly, reminding both herself and the wickedly grinning man beneath her of their most compromising position. Reaver wastes no time in reacting, the hand still placed upon her hip now massaging it's way up her sides. He grips a handful of her right breast, thumb tauntingly grazing over the sensitive bud of skin causing the Queen to gasp breathlessly.

"How about we strike a deal? I do love a bit of give and take now and again." The Queen, lost in the thralls of pleasure Reaver's fingers were currently causing upon her flesh, does not respond. She does however mewl pleadingly as Reaver rolls up and forward, catching that same sensitive patch of skin tightly between his lips. His skillful tongue flicks playfully against her rising arousal, his hands now busying themselves with the soft roundness of her ample buttocks.

She groans in displeasure as he momentarily pulls away, gazing fiendishly up at closed eyelids and sighing lips.

"The deal," Reaver begins, pausing only to place feverish kisses across the milky white skin of the Queen's collarbone, "…is this. You…will attend a little soiree…that I have assembled for tonight…and then **I**…will tell **you**…all you ever wished to know about mummy dearest." The Queen scowls, despite the euphoria racking over every inch of her body. It seems she would not be able to disappear this day into the comfort and safety of her own room, or even Reaver's as it were.

Despite having spent a full thirteen years of youth with the previous Hero Queen before her untimely death, she had discovered that she truly knew next to nothing about the life that had ultimately shaped her own upbringing, save for the tales and praises lavished upon her from Walter's guide. Reaver, with his endless connections and everlasting life, could possibly have delved even deeper into the enigmatic Hero's existence than the Queen could have ever dreamed of! The tease of this knowledge was all but maddening.

"This wouldn't be some ploy to fool me into one of your famed orgies, now would it? I would so hate having to order for your execution on our return to the castle." The Queen can barely suppress a moan as Reaver once again begins his manipulation of the Queen's body, his devilish tongue now focused on paying equal attention given to her other breast. She allows her fingers to snake lazily up Reaver's sculpted back, climbing ultimately to weave clumsily in his bed tussled hair.

If she were not so preoccupied with bliss, she would probably have taken annoyance in the feel of him grinning against her, hands gripping at her waist and nudging her to fall back, his bent knees catching her in a lounging state.

"Ah ta ta! There will be no peeking at the presents before unwrapping them my dear. Now," The Queen can feel, before seeing, Reaver move against her, "Since all this business with your mother is all settled into a nice little basket of fun, why do we not continue what **you **had started, hm? My servants are well versed in the expectations and preparations for tonight. My presence will not be required for many more _marvelous _hours." Reaver is surprised to see a grin rivaling his own striking the Queen's royally plump lips. She moves like the stealthiest of felines, rolling her torso forward and lowering her head down to rest beside his. Her breath tickles at his ear, hands still entwined tightly in the ebony locks adorning his skull.

"Close your eyes Reaver." The Queen whispers huskily, tricky tongue darting out quickly to lick a well placed tease at the base of his neck. Reaver obliges, allowing the Queen's gentle tugs to draw him back and fall into the comforting embrace of the mattress. It isn't long before her lips soon fall upon his own, remaining only long enough to keep the kiss at an annoyingly chaste level.

"There will be no peeking, but just in case you are tempted…" Reaver feels as some type of cloth is tied gently around his eyes and head, the Queen tugging lightly to secure it's position.

"Now who is being the tricky one, my feisty little fox?" When Reaver feels the warm presence of the Queen leave his body, he cannot help but begin to doubt his judgment on allowing this woman, who had on numerous occasions now posed a severe threat in harm to both himself and his belongings, to force him in such an easily overpowered position.

"My sweet?"

No answer.

"Oh darling?"

Still no answer. Reaver slips a finger beneath the makeshift blindfold, sliding it up to his forehead and allowing himself a full view of his now empty bedroom.

The Queen was gone, and even worse, so was his beloved top hat that had been resting neatly at the foot of his bedpost.

"Hm…a kleptomaniac Queen." Reaver taps a finger thoughtfully against his chiseled jaw, unbending his knees and allowing his lengthy limbs to stretch freely across the king-sized bed. His head settles back onto the goose feathered pillow, a cheeky grin pinching at his cheeks.

"How adorable."


	10. Chapter 10

_Disclaimer: Fable 3, Reaver and all other character and game plotlines belong to Lionhead._

_My Queen is my own, and so is this story._

_A/N: Sort of a shorter chapter, an introductory for what's to come. Thank you all so much for the wonderful reviews and favorites, it makes me do a happy little jig every time! _

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_You've got opinions, man_

_We're all entitled to'em_

_But I never asked_

_So let me thank you for your time_

_And try not to waste anymore of mine_

_Get out of here fast_

_King of Anything ~ Sara Bareilles_

"_Daughter!"_

_The faint pitter patter of tiny feet against cobblestone could be heard echoing throughout the abandoned garden. Weeds as thick as logs snake wildly throughout both walkways and soil. Any traces of what had at once been a blossoming sight of beauty, had long succumbed to the overpowering minions of death and darkness. It was an ugly place, a hideous stain on the face that was the majestic Bowerstone Castle._

_For the young Princess, it was the perfect place to hide._

_Dirty little fingers grip tightly at the long, glistening object clutched to her chest, as if her very life depended upon its' existence. _

"_Daughter, do not play games with your mother! Come back here this instant!"_

_In her moment of haste, the young Princess loses her footing, collapsing hard onto the stone and thorn embedded floor. Even still, she does not cry, does not yelp. She remains as quiet as the very mice that surely inhabited this garden, grubby little paws still clinging desperately to the stolen sword she had so deftly acquired._

_Emerald eyes twinkle somewhere in the distance, watching the silent cries rake the tiny thing's body as she so aptly evades discovery. Such a small little thing, this young little princess. _

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The Queen is quite pleased with herself as she stealthily slips into what _should _have served as her bedroom to the night previous. Leave it to Reaver to take a woman's plan, flip it on its tail end then back up again, and serve it as a breakfast to a morning spent of bodily desires.

Even still, as irked with the incorrigible man as she was, the Queen cannot fight the smile seemingly glued upon her full lips. Slender fingers grip tightly at the brim of the massive top hat still cradled in her grasp. It was much heavier than it looked, serving quite the challenge to slip it past the many rowdy sailors and prematurely drunken guests scattered among the deck.

It didn't help, of course, that the Queen was still completely nude.

A faint whining draws her attention back to the darkened bedroom she currently occupied, eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness to see her hound sluggishly making his way towards her.

"Aw boy," The Queen kneels down, dropping the offending hat to the floor and holding her pet's fuzzy face in her hands, "Still suffering under some sea sickness, I see." She strokes his black and white fur lovingly, fingers scratching at all the right spots just beneath his ears. He responds with an approving, weak bark before turning to the elaborate bed just a few paces away, leaping upon it and lulling back to sleep almost instantly.

Oh, how the Queen truly envied him sometimes.

Collecting both herself, and her _prize_, once more, the Queen glides with an undeniable grace that only years of dedicated etiquette classes could provide. Sparking a small flame at the tips of her fingers, she effortlessly lights the many sweet scented candles adorning the walls alongside her path.

* * *

_It was raining. It was always raining. Relentless, steady raindrops, pitter pattering on the cobblestone path._

_The young princess is older now, just on the cusps of womanhood. Doe-like eyes watch as her mother is lifted into the golden casket that would soon serve as her tomb._

"_Do not look, Princess." They tell her, but she does not heed them anymore than the cold water bleeding from the sky. She does not whimper, does not cry, this young little princess of mice. The shadow of her brother towers to her left, the hulk of the man they call "Ser" to her right. _

_Emerald eyes do not twinkle on this day, they simple watch._

_The service is short and small, just as the Hero Queen would have wished it to be. A gypsy, a monk, a scholar, and a pirate serve as the oddest of guests, but all are too deep in loss to remark upon it. _

"_Sister?"_

_The young princess is movingly steadily towards her mother's lifeless body. Ignoring the stares of the guards, she approaches the casket. Ignoring the protests of her friends and guardians, she touches her dead mother's face. Ignoring the smirk of the pirate, she steals the ring from the corpse's limp hand._

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The Queen groans as she throws open the doors to her armoire.

"You have** got **to be kidding me." The hound's head lolls slightly to the side to regard his mistress, her hand reaching into the many racks of clothing and removing a selected few.

"This! This is nothing more than a few scraps of cloth! And this…is this meant to serve as a _blouse_?" The Queen holds the transparent fabric against her chest, immediately wrenching it from her skin soon thereafter. This simply would not do! If she were to even attempt to step out in any of these poor excuses for an ensemble, into a party of Reaver's none the less! Why, she would surely be forced to gouge the eyes from any poor soul who **dared** to look at her in such a state of shame.

"Damn that Reaver!"

"Your Majesty, I-I'm sorry to intrude but…oh my!" The Queen's entire body jolts in surprise, spinning on her heels to see the equally startled Lily staring back at her. The young servant shields her eyes with her hands, lifting into view the stunning ivory gown hanging in her grasp.

The length is anything but modest, most certainly to fall clear above the knee on the Queen's lengthy legs. A darling corset creates the bodice of the dress, golden trim outlining the edges and dipping into the abdomen with a sharp V.

"Lily! What are you doing here?" The Queen hesitates, realizing just how harsh her previous statement had unintentionally come out. She quickly glances around, spotting a folded blanket resting upon a nearby chair and snatching it up hastily.

"I mean, what can I do for you, child?"

"M-master Reaver asked for me this morning. He…he told me to bring this to you. That you knew I would arrive and there w-was no need to knock." Lily, still averting her gaze, drops to the floor, "I'm so sorry your Highness! I should have known better! I should have-"

The Queen hushes the emotional servant, reaching her in just a few strides and gently pulling her up by the arm.

"Shhh…it's quite alright Lily. T'is neither the first, nor the last time I'm sure, another will see me in the way the Maker had intended." Lily, encouraged by the light mood of the Queen's melodic voice, peeks curiously out from beneath her covered gaze, thin lips quirking into a smile.

"See? There now, the world has not crumbled at my feet from embarrassment. Now, if you had been any other servant, say, Barry for instance-" The Queen can feel the petite girl shiver within her grasp, silently reminding herself to whack the beast hard upon the head on their next meeting.

"You are most kind to comfort me, your Majesty." Lily sniffs, collecting herself and raising blue eyes to glare at the Queen fawningly. Those very same eyes widen in shock soon after, soft hands darting up to the Queen's elongated neck and petting it gently.

"Oh! Your Highness…your neck! What did **he** do to you?"

"Huh?" The Queen momentarily loses her eloquent manner of speech, her own hands reaching towards her neck and rubbing it gingerly.

"It's all bruised, my lady! The master did not bring harm to you, did he?" Lily collapses once more, "It is all my fault! I should never have let you leave to him last night!"

The Queen can't help but roll her eyes, no longer so concerned to sooth the girl, obviously prone to overreaction.

"Lily, I am fine. Really." Her curiosity peaked, the Queen returns once more to the open doors of the mahogany armoire, glancing at her reflection in the elongated mirror.

* * *

_The young little princess is a blossoming woman now. Full lips painted with only the finest of makeup. Soft curves catching the eyes of almost all to witness in the grand throne room._

_Emerald eyes both twinkle __**and**__ watch on this day, with utmost interest as it were._

_She barely regards the former pirate lord as she passes, cradled in the overprotective arm of the newest King. A handsome fellow, eyes bright and eager, all but blind to the burdens that would all too soon fall upon his shoulders._

_To the crown sitting upon his head that would all too soon crush him. _

"_All rise to the King of Albion!"_

_The room erupts in a chaotic symphony of shouts and cheers, the King's most beautiful possession allowing herself to be freely passed throughout the arms of both knights and cowards, of nobles and commoners. It isn't until a gloved hand comes to rest at her shoulder does the stunning princess allow her equally stunning eyes to awake from their daze._

"_Good evening my Princess." The dark stranger, hair as black as his raven suit, nods before the woman, "I am Reaver."_

_With venomous charm, he takes up the petite hand of his most recent victim, placing sweet kisses upon her innocent fingertips._

"_That is quite a fetching ring adorning this darling little digit," The devilish gentleman grins knowingly, emerald eyes falling onto the aged, once shining sword strapped tightly to her hip. He dips forward, roguish lips carrying whispered words despite the growing voices of those around them._

"_Do not fret, my darling. I will not tell a soul."_

_It is with the subtle blush of her cheeks, that this young little princess had sealed her fate. She does not cry, for how could she? _

_The snake had engulfed her before she had even sensed the danger._

_

* * *

_

"That color really does suit you," Half expecting to see the ember eyes of the fierce Page standing behind her, the Queen turns to grant the demur Lily a warm smile.

The gown was just as every bit of lovely on the Queen than off, long billowing sleeves reaching far down past her fingertips, bare shoulders allowing a generous view of her porcelain skin. Unfortunately, it also provided a full audience to the many red and blue markings decorating her uncovered neck.

The Queen sighs, gently prodding at the none-too-subtle reminders of the very man she so very dearly hoped to forget.

"These blasted hic-" She hesitates, eyes once again falling upon the child servant working fervently at her feet, "These _bruises_ are so unsightly. I don't suppose our gracious host provided you with a means of hiding such…inconveniences."

"Actually your Majesty," Lily removes herself from the Queen, "Master Reaver did have me bring along a jacket, only to be brought out by your request." The young servant disappears in just an instant, only to reappear seconds later from behind the nearest sofa.

"Is that…?"

"I believe so, your Majesty." Lily places the jacket carefully across the bottom half of the Queen's bed. The hound that had previously been snoring loudly upon it, glances at the article of clothing briefly, sniffing it curiously and growling in response to the scent of its owner.

The two women stare down at the fur lined jacket in both confusion, and in the Queen's case, disgust.

"Master Reaver also wished me to tell you that, without the jacket, your newest accessory would look rather…silly," Lily eyes the goggle adorned top hat resting upon the Queen's nightstand, "His words of course, your Highness! I would never make such assumptions."

The Queen picks up the weighty jacket and slips it on without another word. None were needed. Reaver knew exactly what he was doing when he sent Lily to her bedroom on this day.

She was merely a mouse, continually falling into his well-manicured traps.


	11. Chapter 11

_Disclaimer: Fable, Reaver and all other character and game plotlines belong to Lionhead._

_My Queen is my own, and so is this story._

_A/N: I'mmm back! I hope you all enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. I missed these crazy cast of characters I have concocted (whew, say that five times fast) Can I get a "HELL YEA" for the Lady GaGa lyrics setting the theme of this chapter? Oh, and I've got a pistol shaped cookie for whoever can spot the 'A Bit of Fry and Laurie' reference…GO!_

_

* * *

_

* * *

_We live a cute life_

_Soundfanatic, pants tighter than plastic honey_

_But we got no money_

_We do the dance right_

_We got it made like_

_Ice cream topped with honey_

_But we got no money_

_Beautiful, Dirty, Rich ~ Lady GaGa_

It is a calm night as the Queen steps out onto the main deck of _The Industrialist_.

The wind carries with it a soothing warmth, the temperature somewhat odd for the midst of the winter season. Stars shine clearly in the darkened sky, undimmed by the glow of street lamps or lit up houses. It truly is a desperately needed haven for the Queen, far from the chaos of city living and the stresses of politics.

"It sounds as if the party is below deck, your Majesty." Lily fidgets nervously beside the ivory clad woman. The young servant is also dressed to impress, the Queen managing to merge some of the many inappropriate ensembles provided her, into something much more presentable for the teenaged girl.

"Just a moment. I'd like to enjoy some of this peace before subjugating ourselves to-" Loud laughter erupts from somewhere beneath the pair, the Queen glancing jadedly in its direction, "_…that_."

Lily nods, kneeling down to pet the panting collie following loyally behind them.

The ship rocks gently with the calm sea, the Queen navigating through the many ropes and crates lying about to reach the boat's railing. A familiar melody is caught humming against her lightly painted lips as she leans longingly over its wooden edge, eyes shut while enjoying the cold mist tickling at the tip of her nose.

_Down by the reeds_

_Down by the reeds_

_Float the souls left unbroken_

_By white balverines_

_Down by the reeds_

_Night blooming weeds_

_Embrace those who go dancing_

_In sad moonlit dreams_

"I…I believe I know that tune." Lily's sing-song voice draws the Queen from her momentary reverie, tear stained eyes blinking away its existence before turning to look at the girl. Blonde curls bounce joyfully as she jogs, with diminished grace, to the Queen's position at the rail, a wide smile pinching at her freckled cheeks.

"Careful Lily!" The Queen catches the girl just as her foot catches in a tangled rope, sparking gauntlets hidden beneath the elongated sleeves of her heavy jacket.

"I'm sorry, it's just," Lily giggles lightly, bright eyes twinkling despite the slight shock the Queen knew still vibrated throughout her small frame, "My mother used to sing it to me! The tale of the fall of Oakvale was one of her favorites."

"Oh? That's…interesting." The Queen cannot fight the utter look of disappointment plaguing every feature of her regal face. It seems that even a lullaby, thought to be a shared secret between a Queen and her Princess, is nothing more than a well-known tune sung throughout all of Albion.

Just another let down from the deceased Hero Queen of lies.

"Your Majesty? Are you alright?" Lily reaches up to place the back of her palm up against the Queen's cheek, "You look rather ill."

Without hesitation, the Queen uncaringly swats the servant's hand away, her own hands gripping at the wooden railing until her knuckles turn a ghostly white.

Her desire to learn the secrets of this woman was never greater than it was at this very moment. All her life, she had been molded to live in the example of the mother that she truly knew nothing about. Jasper had been the one to really raise her, after all. Her mother had been much too busy saving the world…or so she was told.

The Queen's gaze drifts once again towards the growing outburst of laughter and other such annoyances of the party below, thoughts shifting to that of the host that surely sat plotting the next move in his most recent game of manipulation.

"Come Lily. I believe I am in the right state of mind to attend Reaver's little party now. It should be…fun." The small girl shrinks back in cowardice, unable to glance back up at the unnaturally blue, glowing eyes boring down into her.

* * *

"Oh Reaver!" Amanda squeals and giggles as two gloved fingers tickle teasingly up the inside of her thigh. She always was a ticklish sort.

Reaver smirks at the blushing red head sitting upon his right leg, the raven haired beauty on his left busy nibbling aggressively at the base of his neck.

"Wendy, not too rough my dear. No marks of any sort," The exotic woman pulls back to glare questioningly down at him. Reaver growls, latching his lips against her tanned skin and biting at it playfully.

"At least, not any marks on **me**. Amanda, my sweet, if last week was any indication, I believe you have quite the fetish for abuse, no?" The two women upon Reaver's lap giggle sweetly before entwining with one another, lips colliding in a marriage of passion and lust. His hands climb eagerly up the spines of each scantily clad body, careful to lavish each of his lovely vixens with equal attention. Wendy did grow ever so impatient when faced with sharing the bed with another female.

A flash of white clouds Reaver's vision for only an instant, long enough, however, to draw his focus away from the enticing scene playing out before him. In one swift movement, he stands tall, sending the two women crashing to the ground and stepping over them uncaringly, despite their continued whining.

"Don't leave us, love!"

"We **need** you Reaver."

Not one to leave two delicious darlings unsatisfied, Reaver glances back to the pleading pair, flashing a brief but ever charming grin.

"Do not fret, my lovelies, I will return. **Do** feel free to start without me, however." The women smirk knowingly before joining once more in a heap of limbs and lips, soft moans pulling at Reaver's gut as he most begrudgingly drags himself away.

The Queen, unwillingly, plays witness to this scene as she watches Reaver's approach, much too far away to hear any of the uncouth words shared between the trio.

At least something to be thankful of as she fully takes in the entirety of her surroundings.

The room smells of urine and vomit, many of the guests already passed out on the litter stained floor. A makeshift stage nestled snugly in the corner of the room serves host to a small band of musicians, loud horns and thudding drums all but deafening the shouts of all, conscious, party goers. Clearly, not one of Reaver's more posh and polished gatherings.

"We really must discuss this constant tardiness my dear. It is most unbecoming for a woman in your position, you see." Reaver stands tall before the Queen and her startled companion, his ever present smirk and lustful glare clearly visible despite the dimly lit hold.

"Well, **you** of all people should know how it is," The Queen shrugs, her sight drifting away from that of Reaver and instead falling on a rugged looking crewmember throwing vulgar hand motions her way, "You cannot rush perfection." She smirks confidently, winking slyly at the nameless man she truly harbored not a single desire for.

Reaver's resolve does not budge an inch, his trademark smirk only gaining length and further irritating the frustrated monarch. She opens her mouth to speak, only to be instantly silenced by a rapping cane tapping lightly against the wooden floorboards.

"Reaver!" The Queen gasps, her legs giving out beneath her just as the black and gold walking stick comes horrifyingly into view. Reaver, always three steps ahead, is holding the Queen tightly against his own body before she even realizes he had moved.

"Ah ah ah! Not yet, my sweet. There will be plenty of time to lie down in the bedroom, though, I am not sure you will get much rest. This crowd can become a rather rambunctious bunch." Reaver laughs loudly in the Queen's ear, hands navigating knowingly throughout the many buttons and buckles of _his_ jacket adorning her lovely frame.

"I must say, you look simply stunning in my clothes. I am not one to usually opt for sharing, but you are stating the most tempting of arguments otherwise," Reaver lowers his lips to kiss tantalizingly at the Queen's earlobe, his attentions drifting to much lower locations "Mmm, _love_ that body."

The Queen can only groan and helplessly fidget as Reaver continues his unabashed groping, Lily shrinking back into the shadows along with the growling hound at her feet.

"Get…that _thing_…away from me."

"I only wished to complete your ensemble;" Reaver shifts the Queen's weight onto his left arm, raising his right and twirling the accursed cane readily, "Accessories are _such_ a necessity these days." A snake-like hiss seems to be emitting from the cane as the Queen glares, wide-eyed, up at it. Reaver sighs, no longer finding such amusement in the rag-doll like woman slouching in his grip.

"Barry!" Reaver snaps his fingers, the wiry man servant scrambling through the many bodies inhabiting the room, entwined in heaps of pleasure and passion.

"Yes Masta' Wreava'!" The effects of Barry's condition are still clearly evident, his exposed arms covered in a thick blanket of the same reddish hair adorning his head, pointed teeth gleaming in the darkness as he grins wickedly at the Queen still reclining in Reaver's arm.

"Be a good boy and take this back up to my quarters." Reaver tosses the cane back to Barry without a single glance, "If I spot a single bite mark upon it, I swear I will not hesitate to bring out the whip you miserable, mangy mutt. Ah yes, there's a love."

Barry rushes off, but not before Reaver manages to land a hard slap upon his rear end, laughing maniacally. His attentions are soon drawn to the gentle tug of a firm hand gripped desperately to his collar, the lidded eyes of the exhausted monarch meeting his gaze. With fierce determination, and minor resistance on his part, the Queen manages to pull Reaver's face down to her own level.

"You…" The Queen's voice is shaky and weak, her fingers curling even tighter against the soft fabric of his shirt, "are such…an arse." Reaver laughs once more, gripping his foul-mouthed lady even tighter around the waist and spinning her dizzyingly.

"Yes, I do have quite the **ass**, don't I? You are more than permitted to touch, my sweet. Fondle, grope, whatever your deviant little heart desires. I live only to please you, your Majesty."

Gaining an ounce of her strength, the Queen manages to pull herself away from the loosened hold of Reaver's wandering hands, arms folding over her chest defiantly.

"Ah, just as well. The show is about to start, and I can be **ever** so distracting. Wouldn't want you to slip and fall on stage." Reaver scoffs, yet still managing to wear his trademark smirk, "How dreadful…"

"W-what?" The Queen's face turns a sickening pale shade from beneath Reaver's "borrowed" top hat. She glances once again to the tiny, poorly assembled stage creaking in the corner, just now noticing the absence of a band, and what looked to be crew members setting up one of Reaver's most recent inventions, a device that actually allows an individual to project their voice over the noisiest of crowds.

As if the world needed a louder, more irritating Reaver…

"What show? I am not going up on any stage-"

"Well of course you are!" Reaver catches the Queen's arm just as she moves to make an escape, "You **are** my star performer, after all." In her weakened state, Reaver can easily maneuver the struggling Queen throughout the bustling, and half naked, crowd.

"Is that…?"

"Oh! she looks just _divine_ without all those heavy clothes, don't you agree darling?"

"See? I told you there was something going on between her and Reaver, but really, who could blame her?"

The Queen is all but helpless to the many hands and fingers tearing at her limp body as she is dragged forward, her only escaping being to press herself further into the unnatural comfort of Reaver's lithe frame.

"Oh, do not be afraid my dear. They do not **all** bite." His hand slips beneath the white coattails, gripping the Queen roughly by the arse and pushing her none too carefully up against the stage they now stood in front of. She tumbles forward and catches the edge as Reaver casually makes his way past, her mind racing with every curse word ever taught to her in youth. By a _presumably_ unaware Walter none-the-less.

"Ladies and non-too-Gentlemen!" A rushed silence befalls the crowd as Reaver's commanding voice booms across the brass, speaking creations. The Queen can only gaze up and watch as the finely dressed man stands wide armed above, facing the cheering mass that she was all too unwilling to even attempt at re-navigating.

"As all you unaware nit-wits may be shockingly aware of, I have been known to on occasion, throw a little soirée or two." The adoring crowd erupts in a fit of snobbish laughs and giggles, only to be instantly silenced by a gloved, raised hand. "And, not one to be outdone by even myself as it seems, I have prepared the most delicious treat for you, my loving fans. For your viewing pleasures, Reaver Industries is proud to present to you miserable miscreants, the buxom beauty herself, Burlesque Bessie!" Reaver's eyes glance briefly down to twinkle mischievously down at the frowning Queen, "And of course, her most _special_ guest for the night…the Hero Queen of Albion!"

Not even before the Queen has a chance to blink, does a pair of intensely strong, and warm, hands grip powerfully at each one of her dormant forearms, effectively pinning her to the spot. She can barely make out the ginger shaded hair of Barry dip into her view as he leans in closer from behind, ale tainted breath beating heavily against her flaring nostrils.

"Ah, no worries love. Masta' Wreava' has you in good hands! Now, if you'll just walk this way pwrincess…"

"Barry! What are you-!" The Queen finds herself being lifted and thrown, none too cautiously, over the shoulder of the very same sort of wild beast she most frequently put an end to. Oh, if only she could reach back far enough to free the pistol strapped stealthily to her inner thigh…

Pre-recorded music begins blaring across each corner of the poorly lit room, the Queen's eyes searching frantically throughout the crowd for any sign of her faithful hound, or even the young Lily.

As if they could even _slightly_ help her now.

Barry's boney shoulder digs sharply into the Queen's gut as he jogs jubilantly up the few steps, each one feeling as if a knife was being plunged even deeper into her skin. She cannot see his face, but is completely certain it is filled with that of purposeful fulfillment as they come to a much more comfortable stop.

"Very good Barry, though, she does seem to be a bit overdressed for the occasion, don't you agree?" Reaver's cool voice calls out from somewhere near the Queen's backside, his unnerving fingertips trailing languidly up each one of her uncovered legs.

"Of course Wreava'." The Queen finds herself returning to the floor just as quickly as she had been taken from it, unsteady footing allowing her to fall back into a pair of increasingly familiar arms.

"Get your hands off me." The Queen is practically growling beneath clenched teeth as she glares fiercely back at Reaver's untamed **pet**, twitchy fingers resisting the urge to place two well-aimed bullets right between his nearly black eyes. The pulsating, exotic music draws her back to the situation at hand, Reaver's own busy fiddling with the clasps that held her elaborate outfit together.

"Stop it! I am not doing this Reaver, let me go!"

Reaver lowers his head to rest comfortably atop the Queen's shoulder, holding her tightly in a lover's embrace as she unsuccessfully struggles for release.

"Remember our deal, your _Highness_. You play along with my little game here, and in return, you learn all you ever dreamed of knowing about our late monarch. Every dirty little secret," Reaver begins grinding his hips dauntingly against the Queen's backside, her eyes fluttering slightly despite herself, "And believe me, my little sweet, I know of **plenty**."

Before the Queen can make even a single protest, the crowd breaks out into a riot of hoots and whistles, both her and Reaver's attentions turning to that of the heavy set woman now making her entrance onto the shoddily constructed stage they all occupied.

Bessie's likeness is known throughout all of Albion, her flashy posters adorning every tavern and shop in Bowerstone alone. Even still, the Queen cannot help but gawk at the mere girth of the scantily clad woman sashaying around without an ounce of reserve.

Reaver, always ready to employ his advantage over a distracted woman, takes this moment to unlace the last bit of leather holding the Queen's jacket together, tugging it roughly and effectively twirling the Queen out onto the stage. She collides crudely into the large dancer, Bessie seemingly unaffected and smiling as she looks down at the increasingly confused sovereign.

"Oh! Your Majesty, this is such an honor. I have never done a show with **royalty** before." The Queen is speechless as she continues to stare, dumbfounded. She barely catches a glance of Reaver disappearing quietly from the stage, his arched eyebrows rising slightly as he winks fiendishly back at her disapproving glare.

"Don't be nervous, darling, the first time is **always** the hardest. Just follow my lead…" Bessie's high pitched voice draws the Queen's gaze, her full hips swaying seductively as she passes and stops just inches from stepping clear off the edge and into the chaotic crowd. With the agility of a much smaller woman, Bessie dances fluidly and skillfully, the black fabric of her panties slipping clear off her waist and catching purposefully on her outreached leg and ankle.

The Queen can only watch and stare as Bessie continues to put on her _show_, fully aware that in only a matter of minutes, that she herself would soon be expected to do the same…

"Oh…balls…"


	12. Chapter 12

_Disclaimer: Fable 3, Reaver and all other game and character plotlines belong to Lionhead._

_My Queen is my own, and so is this story._

_A/N: OK, so I'm not going to waste time giving you all these reasons and excuses on why I haven't updated in forever, and promise to never leave you guys again. I do very much appreciate all the reviews and messages I recieved begging me to return and finish this story, and that is what I will do...on my time. I will not force out a chapter just because I feel like it's been too long, as I said before that is a disservice to both you and I. I will promise to not give up on this story (Reaver is too much of a pain in my head to forget about this...trust me) Now, enjoy yourselves!_

* * *

_Shut your mouth and close the door_

_I wanna, watch you while you take it off_

_I'm gonna, take a blindfold put it on_

_And then I drop the letter to the floor_

_I said shut up_

_Mirrors ~ Natalia Kills_

The Queen was no longer sure she was breathing, or even existing, for that matter. Even so, everything and everyone in the dirty, foul smelling room she inhabited was painfully evident to every single one of her acute senses. From the faint taste of alcohol dancing across her sober tongue, to the stale stench of excrement and other bodily odors assaulting her pinched nose. The few clothes adorning her slender frame feels unusually heavy, despite the light fabric that had caused her not one problem only moments ago. Watching the huddled masses of Albion's seedy underbelly dance and socialize amongst each other in the most immoral of ways only increases her growing detachment to those she was supposed to save. Yet, above it all, is the continuous thudding of her still beating heart pounding in her ears. Ever present, ever steady. A constant reminder that she is, in fact, still alive…

A constant reminder that she needs to breathe.

Bessie is indeed a woman well-versed in her profession. Never before has the Queen ever seen, nor imagined, that the female body could accomplish such a graceful, yet equally shameless, method to something that she had long been aware of. From the very same moment she had first mastered walking, Jasper was sure to have the Princess enrolled in every type of dance instruction ever known. Of course, nothing the Queen had experienced on this ship would **ever** pass the harsh inspection of the elderly caretaker.

The Queen can't help but laugh to herself, silently trying to imagine her oldest friend cavorting with this merry band of malefactors.

"Listen sweetness, standing around like that isn't going to get this group going." Bessie's squeaky tone once again drags the Queen back down into the hellhole reality of her situation, "You've got the right idea with that outfit of yours, but here…" The Burlesque dancer is beside the Queen in an instant, having by now stripped down to nothing but her fishnet stockings and a few very cleverly placed patches to cover her most intimate places. The heavy woman, in one swift motion, rips the flowing fabric that had been cascading down the Queen's limp arms, her exposed corset also snapping free and allowing a generous view of her full breasts.

The Queen shrieks loudly in shock, arms instinctively clutching to her chest as the crowd bursts into applause.

"See? They love you! Come now, no need to be shy, your Majesty. You may not have been _blessed_ with curves like myself, but surely, you have nothing to be ashamed of kitten." Bessie laughs like a mad hyena before smacking the Queen playfully across the bum.

Though she cannot yet spot his calculating eyes gleaming devilishly in the crowd, the Queen is fully aware that Reaver is most certainly watching her at that very moment, enjoying each and every moment of his perfectly planned torture tactics.

_It is only torture, if I **allow** it to be such…_

Gnawing lightly against her bottom lip, the Queen quietly contemplates her options. One the one hand, she could continue to stand here like a moronic fool, gaping at the jeering crowd while attempting to keep both her ensemble, and modesty intact. While on the other, she could throw caution to the wind, act on the advice of the nearly naked woman dancing around beside her and potentially create a public nightmare that would have both Jasper and Walter lecturing her for months to come.

She once again rakes over the undecipherable mass of people before her with cautious eyes, her grip releasing ever so slightly against the soft fabric until finally, the corset falls silently to the wooden floor.

The crowd cheers and applauds as their mighty monarch stands high above them, dressed in naught but her brassiere, a thin skirt slip, and the towering top hat still perched seamlessly atop her head. Though she may not be the most modest of leaders, she cannot help but blush at the sudden outburst of positive attention being bombarded her way.

"That's quite an interesting tattoo, your Highness." Yet to reveal himself, Reaver's voice can still be heard booming loudly across the speakers, "Come now, don't be shy. We only wish to admire the lovely _artwork_."

The Queen cannot help but gnash her teeth at the infuriating tone of Reaver's constant goading. He had her caught in his game, his web.

_Or so **he** thinks_

Without any hint of caution, the Queen fluidly removes the pistol from its holster on her inner thigh, pointing it at the nearest speaker and firing. In a matter of seconds, she manages to shoot each and every one of the irritating contraptions, not once having to check at her aim. Instead, her gaze is focused clearly on the pair of twinkling emerald eyes, also happening to most earnestly be focused on her.

* * *

She was good. Not _nearly_ as good as himself, but still…

This series of events was turning out to be much more entertaining than Reaver had previously anticipated. A most **pleasurable** of outcomes.

Even still, an odd sense of…_something_ Reaver just could not place continues to gnaw at the insides of his perfectly toned gut. Jealousy perhaps? Or maybe a sense of possessive entitlement?

Reaver takes a brief moment to glance with a bored sort of curiosity at the many lowlifes scattered around him. All attentions were still focused on that of the Queen, **his** Queen. How many of these uneducated morons were now fantasizing about the things they could do to that battle toned body? The very same things that Reaver himself had experienced oh so long ago.

_Much **too** long ago…_

Despite his most fervent efforts, the truth was that Reaver had only managed to bed the Queen **once**, not including the few trysts and flirtations exchanged between the two in recent days. What a heated, invigorating night that was! He could still practically feel her long limbs wrapped forcibly around his own waist, her constant, silent assertions that the moment shared between them was nothing more than unattached, emotionless sex.

While equally fulfilling, Reaver cannot help but find himself increasingly curious as to why this brave little Hero denied herself the luxury and experience of ultimately losing one's self in the thralls of another. To completely give yourself up to the other, heart and body.

This of course, was not Reaver's cup of tea as it were, but his reasons were both well-known and clear to his own mind…and possibly that of the unfortunate, soon-to-be deceased owner of his costal little paradise.

What piqued Reaver's interests was that of the Queen's reasoning, and having decided upon at the birth of this wonderful little voyage to figure out just what that could possibly be, he was ultimately determined to break it.

With a swift snap of his fingers, Barry is at his master's side once more. All traces of the man-beast's humanity were now replaced with the monstrous features of a fully morphed balverine, even Reaver becoming somewhat startled at the unnatural yellow eyes eagerly glaring down at him.

"Um…yes, Barry. I think our Queen has had quite enough fun up there for one night, and I suddenly find myself most desperately desiring of her company." Barry does not speak, but merely grins in response, his fiery breath beating heavily against Reaver's smooth forehead.

"Ah yes, you understand correct? Escort Her Highness to my chambers if you would," A low growl emits in the back of the gigantic, ginger creature's throat before he scampers off hurriedly, "No grievous injuries, now! Do you hear me?"

Reaver scoffs unpleasantly, highly resisting the urge to chop off the offending tail that had so crudely whacked him in the face at Barry's dismissal. Oh well...a matter for another time perhaps. After all, if memory serves him correctly, he did still have two prior engagements to promptly _fullfill_...twice if time permitted.

* * *

Oh, if Walter could see her now.

The Queen is quite certain her elder mentor would not only disapprove of her current state of undress, but would most certainly insist on locking her away in her quarters for the remainder of the trip and quite possibly the month following.

Coincidently, this thought only makes the experience all the more satisfying for the monarch. She is a caged bird set loose, experiencing the all the thrills of that which was always forbidden for the one time Princess. Nothing can diminish her high! Niether the cold chill biting at her uncovered spine, nor the splinters carving their way deep inside the pads of her small feet.

Not even the large, copper-furred creature fast approaching her very location on all fours with a determined glint in his eye...

"Bullocks!" The Queen barely manages to dodge the enormous balverine's outstretched claws as he lunges dangerously close, landing skillfully in a protected crouch. Instinctively her hand grasps for her sword, only to remember with a loud curse that she was of course only armed with the small pistol still hanging loosely on her thigh. Before she can snatch the gun from it's holster, Barry is once again upon her, this time catching her left arm and knocking her from her offensive stance.

"Fifty gold pieces on the mutt!"

"I'll take tha' bet, tha' lass 'as some spunk in 'er yet!"

The Queen's **adoring**public could go take a dive for all she cared, wretching her arm from the beast's grasp and scratching it deeply. Mustering up all the will she can, the Queen sends a sharp bolt of electricty squarely at the balverine's snout, grinning wickedly as he howls with discomfort. This only seems to anger him however, leaping with the speed of a bullet and landing right ontop of the Hero, effectively pinning her to the stage while simultaniously knocking the pistol off into the bustling crowd.

The throbbing of her now bleeding arm only intensifies with the pressure of a full grown balverine pressing upon it, her eyes darting across each corner of the stage before settling on that of the bloodthirsty eyes set upon her.

"Now Barry…this isn't very nice." The Queen manages to retort between short gasps of breath, a snide smirk playing across her lips despite her most compromising predicament. Barry does not, or cannot, respond before she sends her head forward in a quick burst of strength, smashing her forhead roughly against the beasts' snout and sending him howling in retreat.

"I guess now we're even." Not wasting a second of this vastly changing situation, the Queen rolls out from beneath the furry mongrel and clear off the edge of the stage, neglecting to collect her pistol but escaping the danger none the less.

_Click-click_

Or not.

"Well well, you are quite the little escape artist, aren't you? No doubt your time in the sands of Aurora taught you well!" Reaver's all too cocky grin can be seen clearly behind the well polished barrel of his pistol, now squarely aimed at the Queen's bloody forehead. A gash from her previous scuffle runs crookedly down from the tip of her hairline to the bridge of her nose, a profuse amount of blood already staining both skin and clothing.

The Queen only sighs at the gun threatening her life…again, letting her head roll back to fall back against the stage in defeat.

"Tired my dear? Come, let us retire to my _boudoir_. It seems my previously intended occupants have had a bit too much to drink, and are much too dull for my tastes as of now. But **you**," Reaver reaches down to grasp the Queen by the arm, yanking her up with a uncaring and painful tug, "you my raunchy little rabbit seem to be nothing but energy this evening."

The decorative pistol is removed from the obliging Queen's temple, instead to be swung around carelessly as Reaver turns to address the cheering crowd.

"Drink my friends! Enjoy yourselves! For tomorrow we make dock, and if I am to lay a single glance on any of you bumbling idiots at any point after this night, it will be then be followed by a swift and clean bullet to the head." Reaver lets out a cackling laugh before turning away, the Queen grunting and rolling her eyes in disgust as he directs her back to the exit and up on the deck.

"You are to mention this evening to no one Reaver."

"Of course not, pet."

"I'm serious Reaver," The Queen halts, spinning to face Reaver, "I will have your head."

Reaver simply smiles, lifting a gloved hand to run smoothly over the disshelved hair that adorns the Queen's battered and beaten head.

"The night is young, your Highness. There will be plenty of time for you to take my head, don't you fret."


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: Fable 3, Reaver and all other game and character plotlines belong to Lionhead.**

_**My Queen is my own, and so is this story.**_

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_I was five and he was six_

_We rode on horses made of sticks_

_He wore black and I wore white_

_He would always win the fight_

_Bang bang, he shot me down_

_Bang bang, I hit the ground_

_Bang bang, that awful sound_

_Bang bang, my baby shot me down_

_Bang Bang (My Baby Shot Me Down) ~ Nancy Sinatra_

An entanglement of limbs and lips comes crashing through the extravagant doorway of Reaver's bedroom, the gentle rocking of waves against the ship lulling the pair deeper into the room with an unnerving ease. A booted foot kicks the door shut in their wake, Reaver's lanky legs effortlessly dancing his willing partner ever closer to the grandiose bed set only a few paces away.

"I must admit, I hadn't imagined this sort of reception." Reaver gasps, breaking away from the lovely set of lips engaging him momentarily, "Not that I don't approve of course."

The Queen doesn't smile, nor respond. She instead decides to latch her still swollen lips roughly against the exposed collarbone of the tall man before her, ripping away at any material that might dare to stand in her way.

Strong hands at her back grip possessively against her, his very touch sending ripples of pleasurable electricity shooting straight up her spine. Not an unfamiliar sensation, it first occurring during their first coupling that night after the ball. Perhaps this is a side effect, be it a **wonderful** side effect, of the two Hero's unique senses combining together in a fantastic mix of power, the Queen can't be sure. Hell, she can barely be sure of her own hands sliding smoothly up Reaver's toned stomach, his pale skin like fire against the pads of each fingertip.

_Is that a corset?_ She wonders for only a moment, her thoughts quickly diverted to Reaver's hands sliding down her clothed sides.

"I am beginning to really dislike you Reaver." The Queen growls in between kisses, emphasizing her point by biting down hard against the junction of his neck and shoulder. Her words and actions do not prove to dissuade the industrial magnet, gripping her roughly by the thigh and wrapping it forcibly around his waist, his hardened length straining against her heated core.

"If this is dislike darling, I am rather anxious to find out in which way you express loathing."

"I wont lie," The Queen hitches herself up against Reaver, wrapping both bare legs tightly around him and slightly appeasing the uncontainable desire stemming deep between her thighs, "That would involve a great deal of weaponry…and leather."

"I will keep that in mind." Reaver purrs, his voice a seductive and dangerous promise whispered to each one of the Queen's deepest desires.

Caught up in the madness of all that had occurred on this night, the Queen can no longer deny herself the pleasures that only this one man could grant her.

Though not nearly as experienced in sex as her current partner, the Queen has somewhat always prided herself in the choice of men she has bedded in the past, both in appearance and skill. But in that one night with Reaver, the experience was elevated to unimaginable levels, causing her physical thirst to become unquenchable by any but he.

In short, the Queen is spoiled.

Her lips return to his in a furious frenzy, fingers tangled in the ebony locks that ashamedly feels much smoother than the Queen's own highly maintained hair. Any remnants of clothing are quickly discarded throughout the elaborately decorated bedroom, a trail of shoes and ripped silks leading right to the bed where the two nude occupants collapse hastily.

Reaver supports himself from crushing the writhing Queen beneath him, covering her slender jaw line in a flurry of feather light kisses.

"So, about our deal." Previous conversations emerge into thought as the Queen's eyes wander to the curious picture still seated silently atop the mantle. The intense stare of her mother awakenes a sudden uncomfortable cramp in the legs wrapped firmly about Reaver's slim waist, along with a rather concerning tumble in the region of her lower stomach.

Reaver groans, flipping back onto the lush mattress and allowing his erect manhood to protrude shamelessly.

"Yes, our deal," He runs a hand through his tussled locks, "Best to get the juicy gossip out of the way, right right." The Queen reaches to the crimson sheets to, unlike her counterpart, shield the majority of her nudity. Reaver doesn't seem to notice, nor care for that matter, remaining sprawled out atop the comfort of his bedding, green eyes dancing gleefully over the remainder of exposed skin adorning the beauty.

"Before we begin, I must insist that you do **not** in any way, shape, or form, show disdain for the name of my forbearer, nor that of any of my ancestors. She was your Queen and more importantly a fellow Hero. In that respect, even you Reaver, must assume some sort of loyalty."

"Yes yes, cross my heart and hope to…well, you get the point sweetie."

"You realize I **do** have a name." The Queen huffs, leaning casually back against the bed with an arm supporting her weight.

"Names are so formal, so _boring_. When you have lived as long as I, you need to find your kicks in the littlest of things or risk rotting away in the madness of consistency." Reaver smirks, rolling onto his side and supporting his head with one long bended arm. Despite herself, she cannot help her gaze from roaming over the divine specimen lain out before her. Shooting servants and drinking oneself into a stupor seems to do wonders to the male form.

"Now now my dear," Reaver reaches over, forcing the Queen's gaze up with the lightest tap of two fingers at the chin, "There will be plenty of time for the _tour_ once story time is complete. For now, we shall chat. I do not want a single excuse for any further untimely interruptions."

Snaking his free arm around the Queen's waist, Reaver slides both woman and coverlets tight against his body. If not for previous knowledge, the Queen might briefly entertain the idea that Reaver might simply want to cuddle up to her.

A quick squeeze to the rear quickly rids her of **that** thought.

"Ah…so where should I begin? Well, I guess it is worth mentioning that at the time of our meeting, your mother had yet to become the great Hero Queen now sung about all across the land. Rather out of tune I might add, these bards are just awful these days." Fingers tickle tantalizingly at the edge of the soft blanket, the fabric dancing across the current Queen's skin. She sighs impatiently, useless observations and the insistent press of Reaver's tempting arousal against her thigh picking away at her already waning patience.

"No, just another ratty looking adventurer was she the day your mother had wandered upon the steps of my manor. Blood dripping, mud flailing, oh it was just awful! The servants were scrubbing the entrance hall for weeks!" Reaver pauses to chuckle lightly, an unexpected smile also crossing across the Queen's own lips at the sound. Quite unsettling.

"She had fought her way through the marsh, Blackmarsh to be exact. The first to do so in well…that is neither here nor there. What **is** important however, is the exact reason as to why such a lovely lithe thing would crawl through the muck and other such unpleasantness." A long moan escapes the Queen's lips as Reaver runs one elongated finger gently across the folds of her womanhood, only briefly allowing herself to wonder just when he had managed to slip his hand beneath the blanket unnoticed. Instinctively, her hands shoot up from their relaxed state to once again entwine in the hairs on the back of Reaver's head, his lips crashing against her own in a rushed heat of passion.

Damn but this man is good at distraction.

Breathless she pulls away, dilated pupils locking onto his blurry face as she attempts to regain focus.

"Reaver." The Queen groans in warning to Reaver's very apparent pleasure, both mentally and physically. He clears his throat, likely unused to this level of restraint in matters such as this.

"Exactly correct! How very astute of you darling, you should be proud." He emphasizes his point with another swipe against the Queen's burning core, this time resting his thumb against the small bundle of nerves and sending a wave of pleasure all throughout her lower half.

"You…are either sick bastard…or just plain ignorant…to be, uh, pleasuring a woman in accompany to…stories of her own kin."

"Oh come now honey, you didn't **really** think I would make this simple for you?" Reaver peppers the Queen's exposed neck with tender kisses, "Inconsistency and whatnot." He reassumes his previous position, touches disappearing just as suddenly as they had appeared to the Queen's utmost dislike.

"Right, so there your war torn mother was, intruding upon my humble abode all but demanding my attentions to be drawn to some inconsequential matter. I, of course, never having even heard of the woman, did the most obvious thing."

"If you tell me you shot her-"

"My dear you wound me!" Reaver rolls his hips sharply against the Queen, eliciting another reluctant moan, "And don't interrupt, it is unbecoming of a woman." He clicks his tongue in the back of his throat disapprovingly.

"What would dear sweet brother think of such behavior? Oh Logan, I do miss the little scamp. He never writes anymore. Be a dear and do send him my love." The Queen grates her teeth at yet another obvious dig.

"I'll be sure to get **right** on that."

"Of course you will." Reaver's gaze drifts unabashedly across the expanse of the Queen's exposed collarbone, the desire to nip and bite at that creamy complexion momentarily distracting.

The Queen coughs sharply, not moving to block his obvious drift in attention and instead draping one leg lightly over his hip. She was indeed no monk, nor harbored any illusions of acting as such despite even the most unfavorable of company.

"So," She sighs and rests her head on extended arm beneath her, "as you were saying, my mother intruded upon your 'humble abode'." The Queen mimics Reaver's posh speaking tone much to his expressive delight. Long fingers trail their way up the soft skin of her thigh, rewarding her ever-present spark with a return to his previous ministrations between her folds.

"Are you sure we cannot delay this pillow talk, my dear?" Reaver purrs in response to the Queen's panted gasps. Her hands find purchase at the back of his neck as she clings on in desperation for a center.

"I-" She does not manage to get a word, nay a letter, out before two elongated fingers thrust inside her. The sudden intrusion is just what is needed to send her spiraling over the edge, fingernails scratching carelessly at the skin of Reaver's bare neck and shoulders. It will heal in just a second's time, yet another perk of sex with another Hero. Her brain still works fervently against the pleasurable distractions occurring between her legs, not wanting to lose a battle of will against the bastard.

Before she is even able to consider forming a retort, Reaver's lips are being forcibly pressed upon hers. A quick nip demands entry, nor is she is resistant with her mouth drawing open in one long moan that then disappears into his throat. The hand not already occupying itself tickles up her bare ribs to her breast, fingers wasting not time to twirl about her nipple before pinching it slightly.

The Queen cannot force her eyes open as Reaver breaks away momentarily. She doesn't need to. The clear look of arrogance and amusement is forever etched into her mind's eye from so many moments before. He truly is a scoundrel in every way imaginable, still the Queen simply cannot draw herself away.

Reaver is fast becoming the only constant in her life, the only solid base to set her feet upon.

Surprisingly he doesn't speak before positioning himself betwixt the legs of the woman beneath him. The Queen wants to scream like a child as the fingers leave her warmth, any protests dying on her lips when the digits are quickly replaced by the familiar sensation of his own sexual organ gliding tauntingly over her opening.

"No snide remark Your Highness? I must say, I find myself somewhat disappointed." She can feel Reaver's smirk against her cheek as he leans in towards her ear, whispering the taunt. It is more than enough to toil at the Queen's foolish pride.

"I must have lost my sharp tongue along with the dignity that allows me to lie here beneath you," She licks her bottom lip while peeking at him beneath heavy lust induced lids, "Better make haste lest I regain my better judgment." Reaver's laughter is brief, dying out at the end of a strained groan as he penetrates her tight entrance.

They begin at a furious pace, it never taking long for the Queen's advanced body to adjust to his length. Like everything else about the man, Reaver is not wide but long, enough to send her legs locking in place at his hips as she rides out his thrusts. She moans loudly as she too begins to buck up to meet them.

"You…are exquisite." Reaver's breathy confession causes her pause, her dark eyes glancing up to the face hovering above her. His own eyes are closed, pinched in focus of the task at hand. However the Queen can still read the clear honesty etched onto every inch of his sharp features.

"Quiet." The Queen commands, using the strength in her thighs to force the man above to roll suddenly to his side. She takes only a moment to straddle and once again impale him inside of her, wishing to waste no time in returning to the bliss climbing up through the depths of her gut. It is far easier to focus on that, than the sudden and disconcerting ache now thrumming with each beat of her heart.

For once Reaver seems only happy to obey his ruler. Though fighting for dominance is more than enticing, the Queen is sure he is not fool to think that submitting to this somehow diminishes his sense of masculinity. Either way, with her hands pressed flat against the hard muscles of his chest she is more than sure he enjoys the view too much to give it much thought.

The soft wave of her release begins to make itself known, the tight grip of Reaver's hands at her hips no doubt a signal of the approach of his own undoing. He thrusts up into her with no sense of rhythm, the slight rocking of her hips causing just enough friction to send her walls constricting and pulsing around him. As she begins to moan through her orgasm Reaver's hand reaches up to her neck and pulls her down, his tongue darting into her mouth as the warm of his end spreads throughout her. She allows the kiss to continue throughout the fading embers of their passion.

Wordlessly she falls to his side, a hand remaining at his chest as she contemplates the dull thudding of the heart beneath. It is easy to assume that the organ had died out long ago with any sort of morality and empathy that the man once retained, yet there it lie beating steady just as her own.

You are exquisite

The words echo in her thoughts as Reaver begins to trace small patterns over the course of her skin. No doubt the curling designs of her Will lines are beginning to make themselves known from such rigorous activity, also assuredly peaking the tireless deviant's lust for already another go at the female Hero. She can only continue to stare at the extravagant ceiling, the troubling twinge at her chest doubling in continuous consideration of the compliment. It is not so much the words that bother her, so much as the lack of words following them. No sarcastic observations, no attempts at crude sexual temptation.

Mere words born of affection from one lover to another leaves the Queen absolutely terrified.

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**A/N: Hi guys! I know this story is under Hiatus statues in my profile, but I had this chapter partially finished and I was finding myself unable to focus until I finally got it done. Especially since I hope this will be pay dirt for a lot of you waiting for the Reaver/Queen sexy time. This is my first attempt at writing smut, so I really hope it didn't come off as cheesy or anything. I'd love to hear what you guys think. I do sort of feel on a roll with this story right now, so I will probably be working on it here and there. With any luck, I'll be able to make this a very short hiatus status! **


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